Welcome to the club
by Malicean
Summary: Still reeling from the revelations at Bespin – and not exactly reassured by Obi-wan's rationalizations and Yoda's last words and subsequent disappearing act – Luke had entered the coordinates for his first jump away from Dagobah more or less blindly. He had promptly come this close to splattering his X-wing all over the SSD Executor's colossal armored underbelly.
1. Entry

A/N: My muse is a very equal opportunity creature – while Leia had fun in _Vader's Own_, said muse decided to let the baby-brother have a go, too. However, since Luke is a … ahem, much more gentle soul, and therefore wouldn't fit with the same sort of foil as his sister does, another setup had to be found … ;-)

This is an AU story and since I'm already messing with the storyline as such, I have made it so that Luke tells Leia "There is something I need to check out, I'll be back in time to rescue Han" and hops into his X-Wing to Dagobah, as soon as an Alliance doctor pronounces him fit to fly; instead of gallivanting all over the galaxy for a year before they go to rescue Han. I can't see Luke let _that_ sort of existential question hang in the air for a year, let alone the rest of the Jedi training that logically should have come quite handy before that stunt in Jabba's palace… (The Luke at the beginning of ROTJ behaves a lot more Jedi-like than the one at the end of ESB, without any additional training… huh?).

Oh, and what happened _on screen_ in ESB, happened. Deleted / never properly filmed scenes need not apply, no matter what the novelization / EU says …

* * *

On hindsight, it was downright embarrassing.

Still reeling from the revelations at Bespin – and not exactly reassured by Obi-wan's rationalizations and Yoda's last words and subsequent disappearing act – Luke had entered the coordinates for his first jump away from Dagobah more or less blindly. Jumping straight into a sun, accidentally, wasn't much of an issue for those attuned to the Force – however incompletely – and years of commanding hit-and-run attacks against the Empire had ingrained the habit of performing a whole series of random jumps before returning to the Alliance fleet, in any case.

Upon reversion to realspace, however, he had promptly come_ this_ close to splattering his X-wing all over the _SSD_ _Executor_'s colossal armored underbelly. Force-enhanced reflexes and resilience had allowed him to pull up at an impossibly steep angle, his shields stripped away by scraping across the dreadnought's much more powerful ones but otherwise undamaged. Nevertheless, that behemoth of a ship was kilometers wide in any direction – her crew had a leisurely fifteen seconds before he could clear the immediate range of her tractor beams. With his father aware of his presence before Luke could even process the massive wall of durasteel plating suddenly looming in front of him, they had a lock on him in less than ten.

If the Force really _was_ with him, the young Jedi decided, it had a questionable sense of humor.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Given Luke's firm lodging at the top of the Empire's Most Wanted list, the actual arrest was surprisingly civil.

Unwilling to take the risk of significant resistance the tractor beam had dragged him through the range of an ion cannon, leaving his X-wing dead-in-space and his sword hand numb and tingly.

Deposited in the middle of a side hangar set apart from the cavernous main bays – but which could have housed all of Rogue Squadron and then some, regardless – the captured rebel found an entire company of stormtroopers awaiting him. Line upon line of white armor, arrayed in a staggered formation so precise it might have been the honor guard for some visiting dignitary, if not for the ready gun each and every one of them was aiming at his head. Stun-shots, all of them, he was sure, though that didn't give him much more of a choice. A repair hoist pulled the canopy off his disabled fighter, a black-clad commander demanded that Luke left the ship and surrendered his weapons, and that was that.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

_Up and left and up and straight ahead and up and left again… if that's really the shortest way from hangar to sickbay, something has gone very wrong with the design of the ship. Or there's more than one sickbay. Or…,_ the young Jedi reluctantly gave up the useless attempt to distract himself from the coming confrontation.

Anyways, on arrival, a medidroid with the cool but professional politeness of its kind ran him through a standard check-up, fussed a bit due to the amount of unspecified microorganisms he carried with him – Dagobah was teeming with life of _any_ description, if mostly harmless once it got below the eat-you-for-breakfast size – and insisted on a thorough shower, even as it presented him with a clean bill of health. His guards – a full dozen stormtroopers plus the aforementioned commander – weren't too happy to let him leave their sight but could apparently live with having the droid supervise his ablutions when Luke put his foot down on stripping in front of them. Their acquiescence should have warned him, the young Jedi decided afterwards, when he found that the droid had disposed of his _'contaminated'_ flight suit; which left him the choice of facing a Sithlord cum estranged parental figure (to say nothing of the rest of the ship's hundreds of thousands of crewmen) in buff or dressing in a plain black uniform, devoid of any rank markings but very obviously of Imperial design.

The only upshot of the foreign uniform was that the commander was visibly as unhappy to see the notorious rebel wear his own colors as said rebel was himself.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

A surprisingly short walk later, the commander – who had kept stonily silent beyond the most necessary words – gestured him into a room Luke would have called a ready room if not for its impractical distance to the hangars and the distinctively un-lived-in feeling to it. Not a prison cell, certainly – though the young Jedi could feel the multitudes of troops positioned around him – but…some sort of waiting room, perhaps?

A high-class one of whatever it was, he decided on closer inspection of the nearest chair, a deceptively simple but obviously pricey affair of burnished durasteel and black Nerf leather. Surprisingly comfy, too, but Luke had barely settled into the high-backed seat when the solid block of dark, icy fire, that had been grating against the edges of his Force perceptions since the moment he had fallen out of hyperspace, sheared through his carefully erected walls of calmness.

Regarding the swirl of billowing armorweave and the way the overhead lights reflected off gleaming black durasteel under purely aesthetic aspects, gave the young Jedi a few seconds to regain his composure before he had to face the imposing Sithlord as an actual person.

Curiously enough, the black-armored giant seemed hesitant to speak first, too.

"Son," he said finally.

Luke gulped. _But if that was, how Vader wanted to play it…_

"Father," he gave back.

A tension, the young Jedi hadn't realized was there until it receded, fell away and the dark fire withdrew with it until it was an – almost comfortably ignorable – background glow.

"So you have accepted the truth," the deep mechanic voice rumbled.

_No! Never!_ a sharp voice at the back of Luke's mind shrieked. Aloud he said, "I've accepted that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father."

_Wrong thing to say, apparently. _

"That name no longer has any meaning for me!" the Dark Lord snapped, the black flames roaring back into full blaze.

Sympathetically roused passion drowned out any fear the display of power might have enkindled in Luke's mind. "It is the name of your true self! How can I be your son, if you aren't him?"

The dark fire licked towards him as if drawn by the sudden surge of emotion and, abruptly sobered, the young Jedi forced himself to calm down again.

"You've only forgotten," he tried to argue, "I know there is still good in you. The Emperor hasn't driven it from you fully. That is why you couldn't destroy me. That's why you won't bring me to your Emperor, now."

"You are my son. You will take your place within the Empire accordingly," was the less than reassuring answer, but at least the encroaching flames backed down, again.

"For now," Vader went on, after a few seconds of tense silence, "you will have unlimited access to every part of this ship – while accompanied by an officer of mine, for …a certain settling-in phase."

_Say again?_ Before Luke could express his opinion of this _generous_ offer, the Sithlord touched a device at his belt and a young man in grey entered swiftly and came sharply to attention beside Lord Vader. Four platelets on his chest made the man a lieutenant if the young Jedi remembered correctly.

"The lieutenant will stay at your side at all times," Vader confirmed, then went on, gesturing at the man though not addressing him, "you may consider him your personal aide – he will answer every question you may have, lead you anywhere you want to go."

"He will also show you how to use this," a squat silver cylinder with a clip attached, like a short, thick pen, was brandished momentarily and handed to the lieutenant for safekeeping. "This code cylinder is authorized for unlimited physical access."

"Including the hangar bays?" Luke asked sarcastically.

"Including the hangar bays, naturally," an irritated mechanic growl gave back.

"Of course," it went on, "his orders are to use all means necessary, excluding those causing permanent harm, to keep you from actually leaving the ship."

_Still doesn't sound like too bad odds, once I've both R2-D2 and my X-Wing back…_

As if to answer his thoughts – though the darkness had kept well out of Luke's head – the Sithlord added, "As you have access to the Force, my son, and he hasn't, it shouldn't be too hard for you to elude him, nonetheless."

The black flames roiled, agitated in a way the young Jedi couldn't quite decipher. There was no mistaking the threat in the following words, though. "In that case, however, I shall hold him responsible for the loss."

A black gauntlet gestured. One of the chairs nearby folded up abruptly, durasteel supports snapping like twigs, one after the other, before the thick, tough leather started tearing down the middle of the high back and kept tearing until there was nothing left but shreds and splinters. The implication, of what the displayed forces would do with far less mechanically resilient flesh and bone, was unmistakable.

The young lieutenant was pale but unsurprised. Either he had been briefed, beforehand, of the potential consequences of his mission, or… _or this sort of behavior was just par for the course for Lord Vader._ Luke really, really hoped, it was the former.

The only practical choice, of course, was to dismiss the threat immediately; what was one more Imperial dead against the literally uncounted ones he had already caused? And yet, the young rebel found himself running smack into one of the main conundrums of war: it was far easier to destroy enemy fighters, little more than blips on the targeting screen, in the do-or-die rush of battle; to deliberately condemn a man, about his own age – _probably not an orphan_, the back of his mind whispered, _he has a family, maybe a girlfriend, somewhere_ – to a slow and horrible death, after looking him in the eye, was quite another thing.

Perhaps expecting more of a reaction, the Sithlord bit out a curt "We will talk more, in the evening," when the awkward pause grew too lengthy, before he whirled suddenly and stalked out of the room.


	2. Introductions

Luke watched him go, stared at the closed door for good measure and finally gave up on avoiding eye-contact with the waiting officer. The lieutenant, who had relaxed minutely at Lord Vader's departure, stiffened again. The young Jedi felt his insides go cold.

_He expects you to act your father's son_, the treacherous voice whispered. With considerable effort, Luke drew the Force around himself and calmed his mind. Then he started walking, in no planned direction, just _away_; the grey-uniformed man fell into step with him, one step behind and to the side. The subservient position grated against the painstakingly erected serenity.

They were halfway down the corridor, before the Imperial dared to ask, "Where to, first, milord? Your quarters or a tour of the ship, milord?"

The deferential title gave Luke the creeps. He stopped and turned towards the lieutenant.

"I'm no lord!" he insisted with some vehemence. "I'm Luke Skywalker. Commander Skywalker, if you must."

"As you wish, m… sir."

An expectant silence fell.

"Well, what about you?"

"Sir?"

"Where I come from, when someone tells you their name, it's considered polite to tell them yours. So, you are…?"

The young Imperial straightened.

"Lieutenant 2nd class, Zevulon Veers, sir!" he reported formally, complete with clicking heels.

"Oh." That was a _heavily_ loaded name, among Alliance soldiers.

"Any relation to the Hoth Veers?" Luke ventured cautiously.

Against all odds, the lieutenant stiffened further. "My father, sir."

"Oh." For a moment, the young rebel saw a monstrous, clawed, durasteel foot plot out blinding white, before he sternly reminded himself that no one could choose their own relations. "Did he recommend you for this job?"

An odd emotion flitted across the other man's face, too quick to catch it even with the Force. "I strongly doubt that, sir."

Minimal hesitation, then, "My father and I do not often see eye to eye…"

Luke almost laughed aloud. _Welcome to the club_, he nearly muttered under his breath, before jealousy abruptly reared its ugly head. Whatever petty squabbles they might have, these two were at least _on the same side of the _kriffing_ war! _

He cut across the Imperial's sentence, sharply. "...but even so, he wouldn't throw you to the wolves like that. Lucky me."

The lieutenant recoiled. "That's not what I meant to imply, sir!"

The young Jedi realized belatedly how potentially deadly an accusation that angry retort must have sounded, from an Imperial point of view, especially from the mouth of Lord Vader's son. The next sentence proved his conclusion wrong, however.

"My father's fiercely loyal to Lord Vader," Veers junior explained, "if he'd received the order to find an escort for his lordship's son, he'd put one of his best men to the job. I'm nowhere even near that list."

There was something deeply tragic about the matter-of-fact way that last sentence was said, Luke thought. "Ouch. I'm sorry."

Lt Veers threw him an odd look.

"Whatever for, sir? My father is a general," he explained slowly, "commanding about 40 000 men, on this ship alone. If he couldn't find someone better than an inexperienced junior lieutenant, that would throw a very poor light both on his men and his abilities as a commander."

_That's a remarkably clinical way of viewing things._ _Or is it?_ Suddenly aware that he had nothing but childhood fantasies and a handful of brief glimpses of the Darklighter household to compare his relationship with… to compare _any_ real father-and-son interactions with, Luke blurted, "What is he like, your father, I mean?"

_Very_ odd look. "Sir?!"

_Oh well, in for a deci, in for a cred_. "I never had a father all my life. And suddenly it's Lord-kriffing-Vader, Sithlord and Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces, second-in-command of the Empire. That's a bit hard to stomach. I'm trying to get used to the concept, step-by-step," he confided.

"Oh." For a moment the young Imperial looked seriously taken aback, but then the tense core of terror at the back of his mind uncoiled and Luke realized that he had finally shed his father's shadow and become an actual human being in the other man's eyes.

Buoyed by that development, the young Jedi managed a crooked smile. "Yeah. Growing up with a father would be the first step, usually, but with your father being who he is, I guess we'll just skip to the second step, that is one in the upper tiers of the Imperial Forces. So, what is he like?"

"Uh,… Strict. Demanding. Pretty much what you'd expect from a man in his position, I guess."

Luke's face fell, despite his best efforts, and the lieutenant frowned.

"He wasn't always like that, you know," he went on, slowly, reminiscent, "I remember when I was a little kid he wasn't around much, but when he came home he spent a lot of time and effort making up for it. I thought he was the coolest dad ever…"

"What happened?"

"My mother died," Veers said bleakly.

"Sorry. I…"

A pair of senior officers pushed past them, throwing them indignant looks, and Luke suddenly realized that they were still standing in the middle of a long grey corridor.

"Look, is there some place… uh, less in the way? Where we can sit down, perhaps, even?"

The young lieutenant nodded, opened his mouth to reply and suddenly grinned widely. He tapped the code cylinder in his breast pocket. "Oh yeah, I know _just_ the place."


	3. Lounge

_Just the place_ turned out to be about a few dozen decks higher up the ship, and guarded by two different sets of stormtroopers, who each got ready to send them back in no uncertain terms, until Lt Veers brandished the code cylinder, issued by Lord Vader, in an imperious way. Once the thing had its authorization levels checked, however, they saluted.

"Sorry, sirs," the leading one even apologized, "standard procedure, sirs. Won't happen again, sirs."

"Just doing your job, I understand, Sergeant," Veers waved him off, then lead Luke through the heavy, if unobtrusively so, blast doors.

Beyond those… "Whoa! What is this place?!"

"Officer Lounge," the lieutenant explained smugly, "not for the likes of y… of lowly lieutenants like me. You need to be a high-ranking colonel or commander, at minimum, to get in here, usually."

A room the size of a smashball field, the wall opposite the entrance consisted entirely of a gigantic transparisteel window. Even the Bridge – which couldn't be too far off, by Luke's estimation – could hardly offer a more impressive view of the surrounding starfield. The rest of the details filtered in gradually – and rather detracted from the attractiveness of the place, in his opinion, if _not_ the impressiveness. Leia would have felt at home in this sort of surroundings, probably; the former farmboy wasn't even sure he had the proper vocabulary to describe it. The lush carpet on the floor swallowed the sound of his steps; the walls were lined with what looked like real stone or wood, in places decorated with large paintings that might have been abstract or possibly landscapes, raging seas perhaps or in one case an erupting volcano; an enormous Imperial crest was inlaid into the ceiling but otherwise the décor was mostly streamlined geometric forms and masculine colors, understated in an expensive, gentlemanly way. There were tables that wouldn't have looked out of place in a high-level Coruscanti restaurant; a long, truly impressively stocked bar off at one side; armchairs, looking rather comfortable for all their sleek lines, arrayed in small groups along the long window, some with low tables between them, some without. Gentle, unobtrusive instrumentals played in the background.

Lt Veers led the way towards some seats near the edge of the window, still grinning. "Something to drink, against the shock?"

Luke nodded mutely and the other raised a hand in a clearly beckoning way. A crewman in a parade-perfect uniform was at his elbow immediately.

"Order whatever you like, chances are, they have it," the lieutenant told the shell-shocked Jedi.

For a moment, the young rebel was tempted to order the most outrageous drink he had ever heard Han boast about, but then common sense won out and he decided against anything strongly alcoholic. But if the offer was really as all-encompassing… there was something he had missed since leaving home. "Tatooine milk."

Veers threw him a funny look, the steward, however, merely answered, "Certainly, sir. Hot or cold, sir?"

"Uh, cold, real cold, please."

"Of course, sir. And for you, sir?"

The question shook the lieutenant out of studying the young Jedi. "Kinnie, ice-cold."

The steward confirmed that order, too, and had two long-drink glasses on the low table before them within a minute. Part of that speed might have been the fact that they seemed to be the only guests at this time of the day – around 1030, Coruscanti time – part was simply… whoa!

The Tatooine native stared at the perspiration beading on the sides of his glass for a moment, then grabbed onto the homely beverage with determination. The two young men clinked glasses, then each took a deep swallow of their respective drinks. The milk tasted just how Luke remembered it: slightly tangy, with a thick, almost creamy texture – and nothing like the watery stuff that had given blue milk its proverbial ubiquity.

"So, …look, I don't mean to pry…" "So, you still want to hear…"

They both started to speak almost simultaneously. The young Jedi recovered more quickly. "Yes, please, go on."

"Yeah, so… Well, on hindsight, throwing himself into his work was just the way my father coped with the pain, I guess. That, and he probably had no idea how to deal with a troubled child, all on his own. So he put me into the nearest SAGroup."

Luke's face must have gone blank, for the younger Veers went on to explain, "Uh, the Imperial Youth; come on, everybody knows them…"

The young rebel waved a hand sarcastically. "Outer Rim farmboy, here. Never even heard of it."

"Wow. That's… oh damn it. I wish… Well, I hated it there. By the time I was fifteen, I could have killed someone to get out. I… By that time, my father had just been promoted to colonel, by Lord Vader himself, and I tried to milk that little piece of fame to get myself into officer training early, at sixteen. The group leader was all for it, but of course he contacted my father about it. That led to our first big row."

The young man grimaced at the memory. "You see, if there's something my father really hates it's the sort of highborn idiots who use their father's names instead of any real skills to gain whatever position they want. So he was furious, I was desperate and things escalated from there – we nearly came to blows. In fact, in the end I threw something about my mother's death at him and he lashed out in reaction."

Veers junior shrugged. "He's _still_ broader than me, and then I was just a lanky teenager, that hadn't reached his full growth yet. That backhand took me off my feet. Shocked us both out of it, I think – my father had never hit me before, you know. We talked somewhat civilly, afterwards, and he promised to write me a letter of recommendation, if – and only if! – I managed to make it through the enhanced entrance test at first try."

The young Imperial raised his glass in a mock toast. "I count that as the first, last and only time I ever won an argument against him."

Then the lieutenant tried another grin. "I swear there has never been a more motivated pupil than me, that year. Long story short, I made it, got through junior officer training – with flying colors, even – and then committed the ultimate sin of bad taste by applying for a Navy posting. Cue second fight.

That one started oddly civil – I mean, I was a cadet, he was a colonel and we both had this deeply ingrained reaction to each other's uniform… I think the very fact that I didn't just follow his orders unquestioningly, took him by surprise, at first. It's… he just had this vision in his head, about how my life was going to pan out, and instead of telling me about it – or, _Stars forbid,_ even asking for my input! – he just exploded when I didn't play by his script. You know what I mean?"

"Welcome to the club," Luke murmured. Whoever had chosen the young man to be his aide/guard/companion/whatever…, had, on purpose or by accident, made an astoundingly appropriate match. Deep in thought about the implications of this epiphany, he let the rest of the words run over him.

"Uh, … yeah. _You_'d probably know." Awkward pause. "Well, COMPNOR was a compromise we both hated but it was the best I could get, I thought at the time, if I wanted to get out of my father's shadow…"

"Who chose you?" the young Jedi interrupted finally.

"Uh, what?"

"Whoever put you to the post has selected someone I could remarkably well relate to. I need to know if that was sheer dumb luck or something else. I mean the only thing that would fit even better is if you'd joined the rebels, too…"

The young Imperial froze and Luke petered off. "You didn't…"

The young rebel whistled tonelessly. Cleared his throat, while the other man's eyes flicked, nervously, all over the place. "Well, obviously, you didn't."

In an undertone he added, "What happened?"

Veers licked his lips, apprehensively. His next words came out in a barely audible murmur. "COMPNOR is supposed to be the glorious spearhead of the Empire. It's not. It's the serrated blade jabbed into the soft underbelly of things, more like. I'm not sure my father knew just how nasty they were when he proposed them. I lasted two months before I started to look for a way out – other than the business end of my service blaster, I mean, though even that looked damn tempting at times. Another six, before I had a contact to the point where they trusted me."

The lieutenant fell silent, lost in bleak memories.

Luke was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. "What happened?" he repeated.

Veers junior grinned humorlessly. "Hoth happened. I was days away from jumping ship, at most, when my liaison gave me the friendly advice that I'd better keep mum about my relation to the _"Butcher of Hoth"_, once I'd joined the rebels."

Luke winced. Hoth had been the most costly battle for the Alliance to date; pinned and forced into open battle, instead of their usual hit-and-run tactics, the rebels had lost and lost hard. Taking advantage of the situation, General Veers had earned himself the dubious distinction of being responsible for more dead rebels than any other single commander, except for Lord Vader himself. When Imperial propaganda had gone crazy around the _"Hero of Hoth",_ anti-Imperial propaganda had quickly followed suit. While the former got to parade the actual general around – whose expression had become more and more stony with each recorder thrust into his face by interview-hungry reporters – the latter had gone… viciously creative. Not the proudest moment of the Alliance, on hindsight.

"That's when I realized that rebel propaganda was playing as fast and loose with the facts as the Empire's did, and if both sides were lying, then I could just as well keep the oath I'd taken and stay where I was, trying to do what I could, there."

"How did you know, it was a lie?" The question was out before the young Jedi had thought it through, fueled by sheer wishful thinking._ How does a person know that there's good in their father when common opinion points to the opposite…?_

"There wasn't any civilian populace on Hoth," the younger Veers said simply, "and killing as many enemy combatants in battle as possible doesn't make you a butcher, it makes you a successful general."

There was little that could be said about that.

Trying to fill the resultant awkward pause, the lieutenant hurried through the rest of the story. "Well, this time I _did_ cash in on the family name's fame and glory and finagled myself a posting in Navy Intelligence. Only a short while later – or about a month ago – I was suddenly reassigned to this ship. I have spoken … about a dozen, rather frosty words with my father since then – all that _'joined _the Navy_ behind my back'_ stuff…. "

The grimace the other man wore reminded Luke, oddly enough, of Uncle Owen. That sounded pretty much how his uncle might have reacted if Luke had run off to the Academy…. He shook himself out of the memories.

"Alright, back to the topic. Do you know who put your name on the list?"

Veers shook his head. "No. I expected it to be someone trying to destroy my father."

"Destroy y… what are you talking about?!"

"As I said, my father's fiercely loyal to Lord Vader. And Lord Vader is a man of his word. If you run, he'll kill me – and my father would just stand by and watch. He would stand by and watch, and then he would go to his quarters and shoot himself. The conflicting loyalties would tear him apart – I'm his son, after all. I like to think he cares, but at the very least family ties are like the ultimate form of responsibility – and if there's one thing that can be said about my father, it's that he takes his responsibilities very, _very_ serious. "

_I like to think he cares…._ "Welcome to the club," Luke murmured, again.


	4. Tour

They finished their glasses, Lt Veers pointed out a few more details of the Lounge that scuttlebutt was running wild about (the bar top, for example – allegedly cut from a single piece of flawless Alderaani mooncloud marble; a flamboyant piece of luxury at the time of its commission, it was now a literally priceless treasure since the quarry that had yielded it (and the adjacent planet) had gone out of business forever), and then they decided to have some of the promised tour, after all. Luke considered it a great victory for his trust-building efforts when the lieutenant didn't flinch when the young rebel asked for a quick look into the hangars first.

By compromise, Luke opted for an overall look from one of the walkways near the ceiling of the cavernous hangar bays. Apart from setting his guide more at ease, it also put them almost level with the topmost TIE-fighters hanging from their racks; and the chance to study the actual crafts up close, for more than the split-second it took to cork-screw past them, wasn't one the young pilot was going to miss.

His first question about some detail he had noticed had the lieutenant bite his lips before answering, but answer he did, truthfully if a bit shortly. Luke couldn't really fault him – he would have been a tad reluctant, too, to explain his X-wing to an Imperial.

"Do you fly, too?" was a somewhat safer subject.

"I passed the obligatory courses at the Academy," Veers gave back curtly, then shrugged and grinned self- deprecatingly. "Apparently, my talent lies more with steering … bigger ships. Capital ships, I mean."

He eyed the young rebel with open curiosity – and just a tiny bit of challenge.

"Have you ever tried your hand with anything bigger than …" the young Imperial waved towards the racks of fighters, "… a hunting fly?"

Luke grinned back. This was familiar territory – the old, (more or less) friendly rivalry between fighter pilots and their carriers.

"Why would I even want to? Accelerates like a brick, turns slower that a comet …"

"Shrugs off hits that would evaporate your little gnat," the other man countered, with the supremely unimpressed look of helmsmen – as opposed to pilots – everywhere, "firepower enough to accomplish the same, fuel and consumables for two years and, above all, room for more than one person …"

They passed along several hangar bays in amiable banter, until they stepped through another blast door and found themselves no longer the only spectators on that particular gallery.

The way his companion suddenly stiffened, Luke was pretty sure of the tall man's identity even before the senior officer had turned far enough towards them to recognize the face and/or rank bar. General Veers' eyes slid past the lieutenant as if he wasn't there, to settle on the young rebel with a look of icy disdain.

_Hoth nights were colder,_ Luke could attest from personal experience, _but not by much_.

The younger Veers cleared his throat, nervously. "Sir, may I introduce…"

"I know who he is." The tone was, if anything, even frostier. "Looking for something in particular, Skywalker, or just enjoying the tour?"

"Just the tour… General." The young Jedi barely kept himself from calling the older man _sir_, in instinctive reaction to the other's commanding presence. There had been no discernible recognition so far, if some raised eye-brows towards his unmarked uniform, so the elder Veers would do as a gauge for what the upper ranks aboard had been told. There was a double meaning to Luke's question of, "You know, who I am?"

"I would be remiss in my duties if I did not." Cold eyes ran all over the young rebel and Luke got the distinct impression that he had come up short – pun fully intended.

"I hope, you are worth the expenses, Skywalker," the general went on, turning back to the hangar below in a clearly dismissive way.

But that sort of loose end the young Jedi didn't intend to leave dangling. "What expenses?"

For a moment the elder Veers seemed intent on ignoring him completely before a grudging explanation was thrown over a grey-clad shoulder. "Lord Vader has spent plenty of men – and whole ships – to assure your presence here, today."

Black filaments whipped out of nowhere and wrapped around the general, hips to throat, like a tangle of starving vine snakes. It took some rapid blinking, for Luke to realize that there was nothing he could actually **_see_**, except for the man's suddenly unnaturally stiff posture.

"And I consider those expenses well spent," a mechanic baritone thundered. "Are we clear, General?"

There was no space for the general's ribcage to expand into, to draw in enough breath for a verbal answer – in fact, the young rebel was pretty sure he could see the ribs cave_ inwards_ where the arms were pinned against them – but the man managed a sharp nod.

"Good." The crushing grip dissolved. "Dismissed."

Released, Gen. Veers sagged, caught himself against the balustrade and forced himself back to his feet by sheer willpower.

"Milord," he got out through clenched teeth before that same iron willpower made him walk away with barely a wobble to his steps.

Lt Veers made an abortive move to follow him before a sharp "Not you, Lieutenant, you'll stay at my son's side at all times!" stopped him short.

The callous order made something unexpected snap within Luke. "Is this how you are going to treat every man willing to remember that I'm still part of the Alliance, _Father_? If so, can we go to the Bridge, next? If you keep this up, I'll have this ship gutted from the inside before the day is over!"

"You need to learn to listen better, Son," the deep mechanic voice rumbled.

An incorporeal grip plucked the code cylinder from the breast pocket it had been resting in. "I told you, _this_ would give you access to the entire ship. That includes life support controls or the main reactors. If you truly intend to cause as much destruction as you can, I propose you start there."

"What?! But… Why?"

"You are my son. This ship, indeed the entire galaxy, means nothing to me compared to my family."

The black gauntlet tossed the innocuous little device back – the young Jedi nearly fumbled the catch, caught between awe and horror of the thing as he was.

The vocoder produced an odd sound that might have been, charitably, interpreted as a huff. "Do. Pay. Attention. Son! That's three hundred thousand lives, at your fingertips. Try not to lose them!"

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Mercifully, the Force – or some other cosmic power with a more reasonable sense of timing – had the Sithlord summoned elsewhere before anything even more disastrous could happen.

More disastrous being, for that matter, something worse than the fact that their little row had had witnesses – and the word spread, at something close to exceeding hyperspeed.

There were whispers, hastily stopped at Luke's approach; there were people visibly deviating from their previous course to get out of his way; there was the drippy deference and accompanying clammy feeling of fear oozing from the men that, for whatever reason, could not avoid crossing the young rebel's path. It was enough to take any remaining sense of enjoyment out of the prospect of touring the crown jewel of the Imperial fleets.

The younger Veers seemed relieved, too, when Luke asked for the quickest way to his assigned quarters – more spacious luxury, a whole suit of rooms that could (and would have, on one of the crammed-for-space rebel ships) have housed a whole squadron, including ground crew.

When the young Jedi tried to relieve him of his duties, however, going as far as to bluntly suggest checking up on the lieutenant's father, the young Imperial's face grew shuttered.

"You heard his lordship," he said guardedly, "I'm to _stay at your side at all times_."

Under the circumstances, Luke didn't have the heart to argue too much.


	5. Clarification

Forced idleness didn't sit well with the former farmboy, though. Never had, actually, and twiddling his thumbs on Lord Vader's flagship, of all places, was slowly but surely driving Luke up the wall with anticipation and foreboding.

He picked with little appetite at something called a lunch – he couldn't have said, afterwards, what had been on his plate but presumably food. He flipped with little enthusiasm through the ship's internal database – his interest piqued for a moment by the intricacies of her schematics before the memory of why he had access to that level of information and what he was all but expected to do with such knowledge made him turn away, the assumed food suddenly leaden in his stomach.

Meditation was straight out – it was hard enough to ignore the nearby Sithlord while focusing on the material world; to open himself to the Force in a place so thoroughly soaked with the other's presence for years, was a surefire way to invite trouble.

A short struggle with his conscience later, the young Jedi decided to be selective in taking Lord Vader by his word. Manipulating doors by the Force was especially easy when their locks were designed to react only to Its touch. Once outside, Luke gathered the Force around him, both to let it guide him where he needed to go and to dispel people's attention from his person while he did a little... uh, reconnaissance, on the side.

While the former worked out well enough, the latter didn't end pretty – truly, dropping his own name into other people's minds via suggestion and eavesdropping to their resultant chatter held its own punishment. The young Jedi found that, in a way, he was considered a threat worse than Lord Vader himself: the Sithlord was a menace for sure, but before Luke had entered the game he'd mostly been a predictable menace. People had learned how to take his lordship – and how to dodge his more lethal moods – and some had even acquired something like a decent working relationship.

Then someone had gone and blown up the Death Star and once Lord Vader had found out the name of that particularly lucky enemy ace, the fragile balance had shattered. As had bulkheads. And bones. And whole ships…

The general had not been using hyperbole, the young Jedi realized with a chill; if anything, he had downplayed things.

The lump of metal in his breast pocket went heavier and heavier with every step.

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He had been intending to retreat to his rooms, when he found himself in an area that obviously held officer quarters but was nonetheless decks away from the place he'd been aiming for. He was marching towards the nearest turbo-lift, intent to redress the error, when something in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

He all but skidded to a stop. Walked back a few paces. Reread the name plaque attached to the nearest door.

Vev, double esk, resh, senth.

_No rest for the wicked, huh?_ Luke asked the universe in general, but if the Force insisted…? Today wasn't a day to ignore Its directions, It might get … creative, otherwise.

With a deep, steadying breath, he pressed his hand against the door opener. The door slid aside noiselessly – _would have been too easy, to simply find it locked, wouldn't it?_ – and he found himself in a sort of antechamber. An aide's desk sat deserted for the moment, the computer on it idling. With another deep breath, the young rebel knocked at the door opposite the entrance.

Upon receiving a sharp "Come in!", he did so.

The general was sitting at a large desk, well-ordered in principle but overflowing with paperwork. The jacket of his uniform was hanging half open, the white shirt beneath it not as smooth a fit as it should have been.

_Bacta-wraps stabilizing cracked ribs,_ Luke surmised, drawing on personal experience – _though, why had the man not simply stayed in a bacta tank until fully healed? It wasn't as if the Empire (and Lord Vader's flagship to boot) had to ration the stuff…._

The nasty voice at the back of his head, that hadn't stopped second-guessing things since he'd put the first reluctant boot on the deck of the super star destroyer, immediately started speculating: _Impatience might be a reason_, the young rebel knew a few people in command positions that made terrible patients; and a general was possibly high enough up the food chain to bully even a doctor into submission unless literally laid low. _Extra-punishment_ was a more sinister interpretation of the shortened treatment, either self-inflicted – _fiercely loyal to Lord Vader_, the back of his mind provided, _who knows how he deals with disappointing his lord?_ – or enforced from … _higher up_.

Luke shook off the idle thoughts, just in time to see the older man look up from the report, he'd been currently perusing.

The young Jedi caught a split-second of surprise in the hazel eyes, then they flicked past him, growing considerably darker – _oops, should have known, the man would be well informed about _all_ the details of my stay here _– and finally settled into cold flint.

"What now, Skywalker?" Gen. Veers asked frostily.

"He's safe," Luke gave back, waving vaguely over his shoulder, "probably frustrated but safe, back at my quarters."

As reassurances went, that one seemed to backfire, badly. For a moment, the elder Veers went very, very still.

The older man had very good natural shields the young Jedi decided, catching only traces of fear and pain, and then more – this time: physical –pain when the man squared his shoulders to face the perceived threat.

None of the feelings showed on the general's face when he asked, harshly, "What did you do, knock him out and tie him up?"

_What? No! _"I did nothing of the kind! I had very good reasons…"

"Hardly better than a direct order from the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces," Veers countered.

_Too true._ "The Force…," Luke started to explain before a surge of utter loathing hit him like tidal wave and he petered off in shock.

He could all but read the words _Mind rape!,_ spelled out in bright red letters above the general's head. The young Jedi swallowed. If this was how a majority of the galaxy thought about the Force, no wonder that they had stood by and watched, at the Jedi Order's extermination….

"If you'd just let me finish my sentence before you condemn me?!" he snapped in frustration. "The Force is the only way to open the doors to my quarters and it makes for a rather good distraction, too. He's safe, probably pretty mad at me, but safe and unharmed!"

For a moment, both men simply glared at each other, before the older one relaxed, minutely. Leaning back in his seat, he dismissed the previous topic with a sharp nod of his head.

"Don't make me repeat myself, Skywalker," he prompted.

Luke fished the code cylinder from his pocket and placed it carefully on top of the desk. "My father called this: _'Three hundred thousand lives, at my fingertips'_. Why would he do that?"

Veers raised an eyebrow. "That is a question you should ask him."

"I already did. He said: _because you are my son_. That's not overly enlightening."

For long seconds, the general studied the young rebel in silence.

"Why do you come to me, Skywalker, with such a question?" he asked finally.

"Because I can be reasonably sure to get an honest answer, not whatever you think I might want to hear," Luke answered with blunt directness. "Even now, when you … know the price for such antagonism – and I'm sure it would be worse for a repeat offense – you make no secret of the fact that you detest me. You stick to your opinions without regard of what I might tell my father…. "

Veers made a sharp noise, like an aborted bark of laughter.

"No," he said with conviction, "Lord Vader fights his own battles. If you are in any way like your father, Skywalker, you won't go running for Daddy."

Leaning carefully across the desk, the general picked up the code cylinder and turned it over in his hands.

"A sort of hostage exchange," he said slowly, addressing the ominous piece of metal. "No matter what you might have heard but this ship – and even the men aboard her – mean a lot to Lord Vader. So, to offset whatever risk you take by staying here, he's put the most valuable thing he could into your hands, in exchange …."

Luke swallowed heavily._ The most valuable thing … means nothing to me compared to my family … _

* * *

A/N: _Hostage_ has such a nasty ring to it, these days – it's easy to forget that once upon a time, it was something that could be given, too, as a token of good faith (or even exchanged for mutual reassurance), instead of being taken by force. If given voluntarily, the recipient is known as the _host_…


	6. Gathering

Following his explanation, the general had handed back the code cylinder without overt signs of reluctance. Shoving the jumbled mess of feelings concerning the innocuous little device, its meaning and its donor into a mental box of _'worry about later'_, the young Jedi decided to take advantage of the momentary lack of hostility.

"Who exactly chose your son to be my… aide?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he dared.

Not nonchalantly enough, apparently. Veers' eyes instantly went back to flint.

"Why do you ask?" he threw back, voice sharp and calculating.

And that was the general talking, Luke realized, the sort of tactician that had all but pulverized the Alliance defenses on Hoth. And as much as it galled the young rebel, it was exactly what he needed right now, to get to the bottom of things.

"Because he's as close an equivalent to myself as can be, under the circumstances – and I thought that was worrying enough, that someone would know me so well that they could find such a good match. But then I was made to realize that he is also the perfect tool to drive a wedge, probably a deadly one, between my father and his best general. And that means – unless an incredible amount of sheer dumb luck was involved – someone's trying to play all sides against the middle."

The young Jedi shrugged. "I have learned not to believe in luck when it's too convenient."

The corners of Gen. Veers mouth twitched.

"How… wise," he commented sarcastically. Then any trace of humor vanished from his face and he activated the com set into his desk. "Trelaine, find me the admiral."

Someone, the previously absent aide presumably, acknowledged the order and the general settled back to wait.

"The admiral?" Luke prompted, curiously.

"The admiral," Veers confirmed cryptically, then relented and explained. "He was the Captain long enough, that she still considers him as such. Whatever happens on this ship, if _he_ asks her nicely, the _Lady_ will tell him about it."

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The admiral turned out to be a man about his own height, a pleasant change after all those overgrown generals and Sithlords around.

He gave Luke a wary sort-of nod that almost counted as a bow and threw Veers a pointed look of censure aimed at the bandaged ribs. The latter waved off the concern and said, "I need some sensitive information to _stay_ sensitive, including words spoken in this room within the last fifteen minutes. Could you arrange that, Firmus?"

The admiral – _Piett, if their last intel was still correct, not necessarily a given at the rate Lord Vader went through his admirals_ – raised an eyebrow and then rolled his eyes. Or at least looked at the ceiling while saying, "Lady, could you give us some privacy, please?"

Luke felt his hairs stand on edge when a wave of static energy washed over the room, the terminal set into the general's desk shutting down abruptly. From the corners of his eyes he caught Veers shake out his hand where he'd obviously touched something conductive during the energy wave.

"Now," the admiral said pleasantly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, "will someone please explain to me, what sort of conspiracy I've just become a part of?"

As an aside to Luke he added, "It is, of course, traditional for a crown prince to be involved in intrigues, but for someone who's just come to the fore a few hours ago … you're certainly quick, Skywalker."

Luke almost sputtered at "crown prince" but was spared an answer when Veers started to apologize. "I'm sorry for dragging y…"

Piett cut across the taller man's words with unexpected sharpness. "Don't bother to finish that sentence, Max, or I shall feel deeply insulted that you'd think you could drag me anywhere I do not wish to go."

The general shut his mouth with a click of teeth and the admiral nodded, satisfied.

"My explanation, please?" he prompted.

Veers growled "Skywalker," and the young rebel resignedly went to repeat his suspicions.

"Can you find out who initiated the transfer papers for my son?" the general asked afterwards.

The admiral looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Lady," he said then, apparently to the room at large, "where were the transfer papers for Lt. 2nd class, Z. M. Veers, set up initially?"

Luke didn't know what exactly he'd been expecting but the tactical display in the center of the table springing to life was a bit anti-climactic. A star map was spinning slowly in the holographic projection, with one of the solar systems highlighted briefly, before the display zoomed in.

Even fresh from Tatooine the young pilot would have recognized the system. "Coruscant."

The admiral nodded. "The Admiralty complex to be precise, and if I'm not mistaken: Navy intelligence."

That didn't look very helpful an information to the young rebel. The two older men, however, exchanged a significant look.

"What is it?" Luke asked tersely.

Another telling look was exchanged.

"It's not what is there, it's what isn't," Veers said slowly, "or rather: who. Neither the _Lady_, nor Lord Vader were anywhere near Imperial Center at that point. So it wasn't a request from this side."

_So it wasn't Lord Vader not thinking things through, or at least only from a terribly skewed point of view_. That was a relief, Luke guessed. It certainly was for the general.

The next words from said general put paid to any feelings of relief, though. "His lordship must hear of this."

In his desperation to avoid another meeting anytime soon, the young Jedi cast about pretty wildly. "Wait! How do you know, that m…, V…, Lord Vader didn't just send them a message with orders to transfer the lieutenant?"

Veers shot him a fierce glare but Piett beat the larger man to the answer.

"A message sent through the proper channels would have started the transfer process from here. But of course, proper procedure does not necessarily apply to your father," the admiral said, contemplatively. "Lady, in the… week preceding the induction of the transfer, were there any communications that Lord Vader _personally_ initiated or received?"

The furious glare swiveled towards the Navy man and was blithely ignored when the display switched to a set of different dates and times, each followed by a cryptic string of letters and numerals.

Piett nodded, satisfied. "Those are all messages on the internal com system of the ship," he explained, "nothing that would have disrupted the normal bureaucratic order of the transfer process."

Dejected but not ready to give up, yet, Luke tried another track. "Uh, Lady, can you find out who assigned Lt Veers as my aide? And if the answer to that is: _Lord Vader, obviously_; was there a list of candidates beforehand that someone else assembled, or something?"

Nothing happened.

Well, except for Gen. Veers giving a short laugh. "Forget it, Skywalker. The_ Lady_ doesn't just talk to anyone. You need to earn that privilege, and so far, I suspect, only two people have managed to do that."

The tall man looked at his Navy equivalent. "But the questions aren't that stupid. Firmus, if you would?"

Piett nodded, but before he could make any verbal requests, the display changed again.

This time, one of the data sets bore the header _Reassignment Order _and was identified by the two Imperial officers as being signed by one of Lord Vader's aides. It had – effective this day! – sent the younger Veers from his previous station aboard,_ Communications_, to a _'temporary duty'_ of unspecified length and location.

Another piece of data was the requested list. The young Jedi recognized exactly one name in about a dozen.

On a second reading he caught on to something else, though. His life had been so far from well-planned and structured lately that he'd lost track of the date a bit, but the timestamp on the list ... _That list had been around since just after Bespin, weeks in advance of their current encounter!?_

He said so aloud and had both Imperials throw him an unimpressed look.

"Yes. Irrespective of what you might have heard, Lord Vader is quite capable of planning ahead," Gen. Veers told him acerbically.

The young rebel rolled his eyes for real.

"Do tell," he muttered under his breath, before he said, more loudly, "That's not the point! I still see nothing that tells me whose idea that list was; so can we please do that communications check again? To see if whoever started the list did so right after Lord Vader spoke to him, or something?"

There was a fair amount of humor-the-youngster in the air when Piett said "Lady, the same request as before, starting with the setup date of the list."

The irritating feeling held until the next cryptic list of communications headers appeared. To Luke's untrained eyes it looked indiscernible from the last. Nonetheless, the admiral went pale.

_Uh-oh._

A quick look at the general showed the man schooling his features into a stony mask of resolve – the sort a man facing a firing squad might wear.

_Double uh-oh!_

"Lady," Piett said, swallowed convulsively and went on, sounding almost pleadingly, "dismiss the internal messages. Was there anything mentioned in the external communication that might relate to Lt Veers?"

The sound system sprang to life, too. Short snippets of a conversation started playing

_"young", "guide", "show", _all in his father's distinct mechanic baritone.

_"loyal", "a member of your crew", "devoted",_ that was another voice, scratchy with_… age_ (_possibly?),_ and with an odd cadence to it. He ought to know that voice, the young Jedi was sure, somehow – and yet he wished, to never hear it again. The Force was all but screaming in warning at the sound.


	7. Convergence

The voices went back and forth for a bit, but after the initial batch of keywords the connection quickly became more than arbitrary and the sound dwindled away. Warily, Luke threw a look at the two older men – and if he was taking in more than just visuals, well, so be it!

Piett wasn't exactly leaning against the wall but he was obviously striving to keep himself grounded by means of the hand splayed against the bulkhead. Gen Veers, for all that he'd kept his expression unyielding, looked like it was a good thing he was already sitting down.

Worse, however, was the oppressive mood hanging, like a thick miasma, over the room: the last time the young Jedi had felt its like, he'd been skimming past the trenches on Hoth – trenches filled with Alliance soldiers who had already known (as he'd realized on hindsight) that there was little chance, for even one in ten of them, to make it out alive.

Mood and memory threatened to suffocate him for a moment, but with a concentrated effort Luke forced them back, cleared his mind and finally his throat.

"What exactly did just happen?"

Piett blinked. "You don't … you didn't recognize the voice?" he asked incredulously.

The young rebel shrugged. _Vaguely, but I can't quite put a name to it,_ sounded a bit inane.

"That," – _you idiot!_ the tone implied, "was His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor Palpatine," Gen Veers cut in.

_The Emperor?!_ The young Jedi almost physically fell over in his surprise.

But suddenly, hitherto unconnected puzzle pieces were falling into place:

_The Emperor, he has foreseen this_, his father had said during their duel – Lt Veers' transfer papers for the _Executor_ had been initiated before Luke had even left Dagobah enroute for Bespin, but what should hinder someone prescient from moving another pawn into position early?

_Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy_ – he might be an Outer Rim yokel with a hearty dislike for politics, but even a former farmboy could tell why said prescient ruler of the galaxy would find it advantageous to destroy any loyal (and perhaps even, _any competent_) followers his father might have gathered among the highest ranks of the military.

Add the uncanny precision of the match – _some five decades or so of experience in political maneuverings ought to do that_; and the, well, _unexpected_ change of approach by his father, and Luke felt his skin crawling with the certainty of having played right by the Emperor's script.

The only thought that kept him from bolting there and then was,_ how much does my father know about this?_

_And what will happen when he knows it all? _was a thought more inclined to send him running, but this time the young rebel simply set his jaw and offered no further protest when a tense admiral asked his ship to locate the resident Sithlord for him.

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Lord Vader, as it happened, was currently situated on the Bridge. Given the likelihood of listeners on the Emperor's payroll in such a public venue, it was grudgingly decided to wait for a more opportune moment to approach him, namely the already scheduled meeting with the admiral in the early evening.

To further dispel suspicion, the unlikely trio dispersed, each to his usual haunts and occupations. It wasn't until he'd slunk past the sharp-faced Army captain in the antechamber, hidden behind the Force and the admiral's shadow, that it occurred to Luke to ask a question he should have asked a lot earlier. He hastened to catch up with Piett before the latter could get out of reach – and apparently the older man could guess why he'd do so. Static washed over a (momentarily deserted) piece of corridor.

"Just to get this straight, Admiral," the young Jedi said rapidly, not sure how long the anti-surveillance measures – and the lack of eyewitnesses – would keep, "you can listen in, on a private conversation between _the Emperor_ and _Lord Vader_? Aren't there, like, security systems against that sort of thing?!"

Thin lips quirked. "**_I_** can't. But _she_ is the ship – all those security procedures, it is _her_ who executes them. Not that it matters, in this case. If I'm not mistaken, that was raw data from the sound system in the holo transceivers in Lord Vader's communications chamber, both speaker output and input from the mics. Raw data meaning unprocessed, even by the encryption algorithms."

_Somehow I don't think eavesdropping in my father's private rooms is going to go over any better._ "As long as you can get at the data, the rest is just semantics. I don't think anyone would bother to look on that sort of details if the whole thing gets out…"

The admiral returned his concerned gaze with a blank look that was – as Luke had been taught by several Imperial defectors – the military version of wide-eyed innocence. "Lord Vader is perfectly aware of the Lady's capabilities and functions. Evidently, he has never felt the need to instill any restrictions on her in this regard. And who am I to assume that His Majesty does not have the same superior level of knowledge ...?"

With the young rebel temporarily at a loss for words, Piett quirked his lips again, gave the younger man a short nod of farewell and departed for good.

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Still somewhat off-balance, Luke finally returned to his quarters to fetch his assigned shadow – there was no need to provoke his father before the tricky topic was even broached.

It went beyond scary, though, to see the younger Veers watch his entrance with an expression similar to the one Veers senior had adopted upon realizing that he was up against the Emperor himself.

W_ell, there was a fifty-fifty chance for Lord Vader entering that door, next, what did you expect?! _the nasty little voice provided.

The cold glare that followed it was unsettlingly familiar, too.

"I'm sorry!" the young Jedi held up his hands in supplication, "I'm truly sorry, but I was going stir-crazy in here and you know as well as I do how people react when they see me, out there, and I can keep people from noticing me, but only me."

The young Imperial was having none of it. "And what, pray, would have been so bad if people noticed _me_? I work here, you know?"

"Yeah, as my aide! I needed them to talk about me, they wouldn't have done that in your presence."

The unimpressed look was probably a maternal heritage, but given another twenty years or so to hone it, it would be more than a match for that of the elder Veers.

"You went on a spying mission and didn't want me along," Lt. Veers summed up succinctly. "I should have known – you're still part of the Alliance, after all, you said so loud and clear."

_And that little detail put them on opposing sides of a **war!**_ the bitter tone reminded.

Luke threw up his hands in frustration. "Can we not go into _that_, right now? I just reached something like a cease-fire with one Veers, I don't need to start up all over again with another!"

Said other Veers got right in his face, faster than anyone without the Force should have managed – and damn, he might not have his father's bulk (yet), but he certainly did have the height.

"How?!" the young Imperial hissed, "What did you do to m…"

Thoroughly fed up with being under general suspicion of bending people's minds out of shape whenever the mood struck him, Luke shoved the other man back, with just a hint of Force behind it to make up for the fact that genetics' roulette had left him holding the – literally – short stick, compared to everyone else.

"I talked! I asked a few questions, gave a few answers and in the end we realized we had a common enemy and decided to join forces. That's all!"

The younger Veers had only a fraction of the elder's shields and self-control but the wild feelings he projected were a mirror-match to his sire's.

The young Jedi hastily pushed down the resultant jealousy. "And by the way, his reaction to me turning up without you was exactly the same as yours, just now. So we can pretty much say with certainty: he _does_ care."

There should have been an audible _thud_, the way the lieutenant's jaw dropped.

* * *

Happy Easter, to all of you following the same calendar.


	8. Detour

Seeing how he had no way to ascertain that the ship's … _sense of discretion_ had followed him home, Luke had to cut off the resultant hail of questions with a vague gesture at the walls and a curt "I'll explain later."

There was something deeply disconcerting about the speed with which the young Imperial caught his meaning – _just how much surveillance did the average servant of the Empire consider normal?!_

Not his problem, the young rebel decided quickly and smoothly changed the topic.

In preparation to the preferred – _No, _Luke resolved,_ the **only acceptable** outcome of the meeting that evening, _whether he could make his father see his point would either make or break their relationship! – the young Jedi had come up with some productive way to pass the time until then.

It rekindled some wariness, but in the end he managed to convince the younger Veers that, _really_, by going for his X-Wing Luke only meant to reassure himself that his droid friend hadn't been damaged in the capture and not to make an escape attempt.

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Locating the droid in question, however, turned out to be not as easy as the young rebel had hoped. His X-wing was gone from the hangar it had been towed into.

A living creature Luke might have located through the Force; a metal construct, no matter how much of a personality it had developed, was far harder to find, especially in an environment as teeming with technology as the SSD _Executor_'s hangar bays.

The young Jedi nearly swore aloud. Instead, he purposefully strode over to the nearest mechanic – who took one look at his face and went pale. A few steps further, a hydrospanner clattered to the floor and fear spread through the hangar like ripples in a pond, thick and sickening.

Luke felt like screaming in frustration. He had no idea how his father could stand this, dragging a heavy shroud of terror with him wherever he went.

An unexpected hand on his shoulder steadied him.

"Allow me," Lt. Veers asked earnestly, then stepped forward, putting himself between the frightened techs and the frustrated rebel, incidentally, and started to bark out questions.

His voice was sharp and authoritative, causing the mechanics to stiffen to attention, reflexively; but nonetheless, the young Jedi felt the men slowly relax, internally. Impatient officers they were used to; it was the ill-tempered Sithlords – and their aggravated offspring – that they were afraid to deal with.

The senior tech chief they were eventually relayed to was short, stocky with the first hints of a beginning paunch, his steel-grey hair shorn close to the skull and hands marred with the myriad of tiny scars resulting from a lifetime spent amidst broken parts, sharp-edged tools, corrosive fuels and generally hot surfaces. He eyed Luke with a bit of wariness but no outright fear which was a _pleasant _change compared to the previous reactions.

"Sorry, m'lahd," he said – and the young Jedi wasn't quite sure if the older man had just called him _'milord'_ or _'my lad'_, thick as the accent was – "but his lordship ordered a complete overhaul of the 'wing.

'Tis only sensible," he went on to explain, when Luke's face failed to hide the angry disappointment he felt at the underhanded trick his father had used to hinder his possible escape, "after a hit like that, there's bound to be plenty of fried parts.

Packs quite the punch, the _Lady _does," the mechanic continued, patting a support beam with all but paternal pride. "But don't ya worry about ya li'l 'mech: he's in the very best hands there are."

He looked almost offended when the young rebel didn't immediately catch his meaning. "Was his lordship that took him along, he's got a talent with mechanics like ya wouldn't believe it."

Luke _did_ have a hard time believing it – he knew perfectly well how messy repair work could get and couldn't really picture the Sithlord, with his flowing cape and gleaming armor, unbend enough to dirty himself that way; but, on the other hand ... _That_ was a skill he didn't mind inheriting.

With a weary sigh he asked for directions to whatever workshop his father might have squirreled away his astromech to. The question earned him a _very_ long look.

"Ah hell," the tech chief finally grumbled, "might as well show ya the way."

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R2-D2 gleamed.

Or maybe _glared_ would have been the more appropriate term. The blue-white surface shone with the glint of a freshly-applied oil bath, but more importantly, the moment the young Jedi stepped into the room, the astromech exploded into a rapid-fire stream of hoots and whistles that left no doubt about his mood.

The old mechanic looked caught between awe, mortification and laughter. Obviously, he could understand at least the better part of the little droid's tirade.

"Now, now," he said soothingly, "there's no call f…"

R2 extended his arc-welding tool, tip sparking ominously, and the older man wisely stepped back.

"Ah, well, ya found him," the tech chief gave Luke a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "I'll leave ya to it, then, m'lahd."

Lt. Veers, sensibly stationed right next to the door, had the good manners to wait until the older man was out of the room before he broke down sniggering.

"Whoa, what a reaming-out! I've seen drill sergeants go easier on people," he got out with difficulty, "what have you done to the little guy?"

The droid's top dome swiveled towards the young Imperial. It spat a nasty sounding string of shrill beeps.

The lieutenant spread his hands disarmingly. "Not my fault, in any way, sort or shape."

The beeps gained a few intermediate whistles and an amazingly accurate rendition of a rude gesture for a construct with only very limited articulation of the joints. The younger Veers laughed aloud.

"I can understand why you would want to keep that one, Skywalker," he said, afterwards. "Is it that spirited in battle, too?"

"You have no idea," the young Jedi muttered. "Artoo, look, we all had a long and trying day, and I won't pretend to know what it feels like to reboot after an ion shot – like the hangover from hell, I suppose – but I just wanted to make sure you are okay. You are, aren't you? I mean …"

"I assure you, he is in top condition," a deep mechanic voice interrupted.

R2 shrieked. Luke would later blame his flinch on that sound, _not _the previous one.

He took a deep, calming breath. "Ah, … good. I mean, … thank you. Thank you, for taking care of him."

An astonished silence spread.

"You are welcome, Son," Lord Vader rumbled at long last, vocoder devoid of any emotion, but the black flames, for once, felt almost warm.

Peripherally, the young rebel was aware of the sound of Lt. Veers gulping air when the young Imperial behind him restarted breathing. For the main part, however, a once-lonely child wanted to bask in the elusive affection.

"What exactly was wrong with Artoo?" he all but babbled, "The tech chief mentioned something about fried components, but he wasn't specific, and so far, ion shots was something that only happened to other people when I was around .…" Luke grinned ruefully.

"Mere surface damage. As all astromechs, the R2 series was built deliberately rugged – sheer negligence has done worse, over time. Tell me, Son, what was the last time you serviced his booster jets?"

"Ah, … booster jets?"

A deep, mechanized sigh was almost drowned out by the astromech's derisive splat. The small droid waddled closer, placing himself in front of his young master proprietorially, but on the way he thumped his manipulator tool against the Sithlord's armored shin almost affectionately.

"Yes, booster jets," said Sithlord went on to explain, "they won't support sustained autonomous flight but for short distances …."

And, just like that, they were talking droid mechanics, in an amiable air.

* * *

A/N: Special mention goes to _Hoplite39_ for suggesting a reunion between Ani + R2 and to _JannaKalderash_ for inspiring the hung-over, ill-tempered astromech.

A/N 2: I honestly meant to have the looming _'lets inform the Sithlord he's been played for a fool and see how he reacts'_ conversation here, but then my muse got sidetracked – hence the chapter title. Poor Luke was so worked up on _'it's going to be bad, but it won't happen 'til evening, and then I'll have some substantial back-up',_ too, that a non-confrontational Vader completely blindsided him.

Big confrontation next time, I promise … ;)


	9. Meeting

The technical conversation had gone so well that it felt quite natural for Luke to fall in with his father, when the latter redirected his steps towards the Bridge or, more exactly, the nearby tactical presentation room, reserved for the admiral's personal use.

The mood held until the Sithlord stepped into the room to find a grimly determined general, uniform back to parade standards, waiting next to the tense admiral and Luke felt the – by now familiar – wash of static run over him.

The young Jedi almost backed into the lieutenant behind him when the black flames roared back into an icy inferno.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the vocoder hissed.

Almost, but he didn't, seeing how the icy flames had instantaneously wrapped themselves around their wielder's son in a near solid wall of _fury-fear-protection,_ that Luke wasn't even sure he _could_ have stepped through.

It was the _protection_ part, though, that made the young man reach for a black-armored shoulder, tentatively.

"Father, wait. This was my idea," – which was a bald-faced lie, from all but a certain point-of-view, so the young Jedi amended sheepishly, "Well, at least, I started it. Please, Father, you must hear us out!"

It wasn't until he heard someone draw in breath, sharply, that Luke realized that he had just used _us_ in a way that included several high-ranking Imperials.

The black helmet tilted inquiringly, even though the Sithlord still kept the bulk of his body between the senior officers and his son.

"I am listening," the mechanic baritone rumbled.

"Ah, right. Say, who exactly made Lt. Veers my aide?"

"I did." _Sarcasm shouldn't sound that ominous, and how come that the vocoder has no problems with relaying _that _particular sentiment?!_

But sarcasm he could work with, was used to, even: Leia, for example, …. The young Jedi hurriedly forced his mind on another track.

"Let me rephrase that: Who came up with the idea that I would ever need or want one? And who made sure that there was one name that would certainly catch your eye on the shortlist of candidates?"

"I don't…" Lord Vader petered off. With a couple of ground-eating steps, he was halfway between the senior officers and his son, half-turned to face all three of them.

"What is the meaning of this?" he repeated softly, but Luke wouldn't have needed the Force to sense the danger dripping from the deep mechanic voice.

"It's a setup, milord," Gen. Veers said, voice and stance resolute.

"Not by us!" the young Jedi hastened to throw in, ignoring the plural pronoun and its unsettling implications, again. "_For _us – all of us, really."

He drew a deep steadying breath.

"_Us_," Luke repeated. "Father, please, look – really look! – at the situation at hand, for a second. This is actually the least likely outcome I could come up with. I bet" – _I hope, I truly, _truly_ hope!_ – "it wasn't _the foreseen one_, either."

The ventilator hissed but otherwise the Sithlord stayed immobile like his own obsidian statue.

"Go on," he growled after an endless moment.

The young rebel released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Alright, _Scenario One_: I run, the lieutenant is dead, you lose your general – one way or the other – and seriously damage your own power base in the military in the process; you are left holding nothing but ashes and I would never, ever forgive you for forcing my hand like that – nor myself, probably. Bet, he was hoping that the deliberate blood-on-my-hands-by-implication would drive me dark, eventually.

_Two:_ I don't run, but hate you from the bottom of my heart for the leverage you've put on me – and hate is a straight road to the dark side, isn't it? Except that I wouldn't join_ you_, but _him_, in retaliation. Plus, I'd expect at least some, uh, alienation from anyone else involved in this _'leverage'_ scheme.

_Three:_ the distraction actually works and I decide that not all Imperials are monsters and perhaps I should give the whole thing a chance and stay voluntarily. Least damaging to you in the short term, but with me being who and what I am, it would provide an easy rallying point against you, for all kinds of people."

_And hadn't that been a chilling moment_, when Piett had pointed out that particular pitfall, near-pity on his voice for Luke's naivety. It wasn't that he was a rebel – a bit of a misspent youth was all but expected from a man in his position, and while joining the Alliance was certainly extreme, in the light of who his father was, it would have been grudgingly overlooked as a youthful indiscretion; it wasn't even the sheer amount of blood on his hands (well, that too, but it was other people who concerned themselves with _that_[1]). No, it was the fact that in destroying the Death Star, he had caught himself a blood feud with more than half of the most influential families among Imperial nobility – families who had lived in perpetual animosity with each other for most of the age of the Old Republic, but now that all of them were affected … there was nothing quite as unifying as a common enemy.

_And that wasn't even taking into account how his friends and comrades in the Alliance would react …._ With effort, the young Jedi kept his voice even and continued his list with barely a pause for breath.

"And, of course, it's still a tremendous coup against the Alliance and that way he can try to draw me in at leisure. For the Emperor, it's a win-win-win situation!"

The gleaming helmet tilted fractionally towards Luke, regarding him carefully, then turned towards his officers.

"And you concur?"

The general was on the verge of reply but Piett beat him to it.

The admiral nodded, pale but firm-voiced. "Yes, milord. There are several further variants, of course: for example, your son might make his escape and take the lieutenant with him, with or without the latter's consent, in which case your reaction would most likely result in the general's death. But overall, the outcome remains the same."

There was another moment of perfect stillness, even the black flames withdrawing, collapsing in on themselves.

Then the oddest feeling assaulted Luke's senses: the Force itself seemed to … tremble. The young Jedi had a split-second of forewarning, a mind's eye vision of the black flames erupting like a star gone supernova, before a barrage of raw power slammed into him.

Luke went over backwards, hit the wall at the back of the room with concussive force, and slid down into a heap on the floor; once he'd blinked the stars out of his vision, he found the floor beneath the back wall littered with stunned Imperials that had hit the wall without the marginal protection offered by a reflexive grab for the Force. Near the center of the room, his father was still standing immobile, the sole unmoving point within a maelstrom of fragmenting equipment.

For a too long second, the young Jedi simple stared, transfixed: he had felt his father's temper flare at the mention of his previous identity; he had even met a brief bout of anger when he'd scored a lucky hit against the Sithlord's shoulder on Bespin – an experience that had cost the young rebel his hand. But if he'd thought, he knew the depth of his sire's fury, he'd been sorely mistaken!

Then a groan of tortured metal drew Luke's attention to the large panoramic window behind the Sithlord: as the young rebel watched, in dazed astonishment, warship-rated transparisteel, thicker than his arm was long, warped, developed a spider web of cracks and finally gave way with the whoosh of decompressing air. Gale-strength winds tore at the young Jedi for a moment before automatic blast shields fell into place – and promptly started to warp, too.

The ship screamed.

* * *

[1]Of course Luke had known, intellectually, that his first, Force-guided mission had destroyed millions of lives, directly or indirectly. But that number had always been standing in juxtaposition with the much larger devastation the Death Star had or would have wrought, never on its own. Not until the young Jedi had looked into the general's cold, hard eyes as the latter had said, flatly: _Thirty years in the service and I don't think I've managed to rake up the tally you reached with your first shot, boy. I'm not even sure your father can top you – or if there's anyone alive, who can. And yet they call _me_ Butcher…_

* * *

A/N: I was tempted, oh so tempted, to have Gen. Veers say: _It's a trap_. But then I didn't have the heart to steal from an overgrown guppy… ;)


	10. Recollection

Warning: Palpatine-style manipulation and the resultant disturbing imagery.

* * *

Some time afterwards, Luke would seriously wonder just how much damage the wall had done to his brain, on impact.

For now, he simple added his own voice to a cry that manifestly went beyond the mere shriek of overstressed material.

"No," the young Jedi echoed, and added his own plea to the endlessly repeated monosyllable. "Father, please, no!"

For endless seconds, he seemed to be equally unsuccessful in drawing the Sithlord's attention, but then the whirling maelstrom collapsed.

Luke nearly did the same, slumping back against the wall in relief, and tried to will his pulse down from racing without reaching for the Force – the last thing needed now was further fuel for the flames.

A heavy silence fell, disturbed only by the rhythmic hiss of the ventilator – and a faint but ominous, continuous hiss of air escaping through some small, for now manageable fissure. The lighting in the room was down to some self-luminous emergency panels, most of them strewn hazardously across the room. They cast a weird bluish glow across black armor and groaning bodies.

It felt much longer, but Luke would guess later on that it had been less than half a minute before someone, somewhere to the young Jedi's left, pushed himself into a half-sitting position, wiped at the dark stains on his face and whispered hoarsely, tone as rattled as Luke had felt, bouncing off the wall, "What the hell was that?!"

Piett – the young rebel was pretty sure it was the admiral – gave back softly, "Lord Vader doesn't take well to betrayal."

There was an odd sound, ending in a wet cough and then the general – _unmistakably the elder Veers!_ – growled, "Heavens, Piett, cut out the understatement! If that was _'doesn't take well'_, I'd hate to see what happens when he's really upset!"

It was obviously the hysteria, the sheer giddy relief of survival speaking, but Luke felt awfully close to giggling in response to the dry sarcasm. The next words to follow, however, paid put to any sort of amusement he might have felt.

"A babe can be cut from his mother's womb, shortly after her death, and still live," Lord Vader said suddenly, apparently non sequitur.

Luke's confusion – and that of the other occupants of the room – must have been palpable in the Force, for the Sithlord continued, "That is how he explained your existence, Son, in the face of to his previous announcement of your mother's death before your birth – I should have known his lies for what they were, then, at the latest!"

The helmeted head shook in… _disbelief? self-recrimination?_ before continuing. "But he has always been a master manipulator. He put his emphasis on the fact that you must not become a Jedi – a mere formality, at that point, but an effective smoke-screen to hide his poison barb.

He knew, reminding me that Kenobi's lack of understanding for _'attachments'_ would have made him think nothing of desecrating my wife's body, slashing her open to remove a Force-sensitive child and take it away – _away from me!_ – ensured that I was in a … less than forgiving mood, before Bespin."

For a moment, the image rose so vividly in Luke's mind – _or would that have been, in his father's?!_ – that the young rebel went slightly nauseous; for a moment, he could all but _see_ a petite body sprawled across a metal floor, unmistakably female torso bared by carelessly torn clothes and belly gaping wide between the distinct cauterization marks of a lightsaber blade.

Mercifully, he was quickly drawn back to the present by a sharp spike of shock, from more than one person in the room, fierce enough for the young Jedi to feel it even in his current state of preoccupation. Like sparks reaching fuel fumes, the black flames lashed out, too, drawn by the display of emotion – before they were reigned in tightly, compacted into a tumultuous whirl of undecipherable feelings.

"Consequently, my actions up to that point were… short-sighted. Bespin was a mistake, a terrible mistake – as the Emperor was very pleased to point out, afterwards. His alternative suggestions seemed reasonable, at the time …"

There were so many things, Luke wanted to ask about – _no, wanted to demand explanations about!_ – but here and now was neither the time nor the place for that.

He settled for the one thing he _needed_ to know: "So _the Emperor_ told you my mother was dead? Was he the only source for that information?!"

For an endless instant, the black flames roiled worse than ever, on the edge of another devastating explosion.

"No," the deep mechanic voice was heavy with finality. "When I heard about her death, I reached for her – and I had always been able to find her, before – but she was gone. And later I did see her body and it was genuine – not a clone, nor any other sort of fabrication."

That hurt, with a bone-deep biting ache, even if it shouldn't have. And even as he mourned a woman he had never consciously met, the young Jedi recognized a resonant pain, fueling the black flames with wild abandon.

_Perhaps, if that pain could be eased, the icy darkness would lighten?_ "What exactly did he tell you, about the circumstances of her death?"

"That I had killed her, in my anger."

"That is a lie!" Luke had never been more certain, the Force had never been clearer on a fact than this.

Black gauntlets fisted in barely controlled anger. "I know. I know that now!"

Peripherally, the young rebel could hear the general start to curse softly under his breath, in at least six different languages – perhaps not the wisest course, to draw attention to his continued presence in the Sithlord's current mood, but apparently there was a breaking point even to the elder Veers' stoic mask.

_Husband. Father. Widower_, Luke remembered belatedly – if anyone in the room could empathize with his father's feelings, it would be the tall general.

Even so, the sentiment was apparently shared by others in and around the gathered group, too. The holo-projector, which as the center piece of the conference table was one of the few pieces of equipment still more or less in place in the room, came to life and projected a somewhat fuzzy, but nonetheless readable display. Again, Coruscant wheeled around its sun en miniature, before the zoom-in jumped to a continent, then a large, sprawling building complex and finally the upper part of a tall spire. Vaguely familiar looking strings of numerals swirled around the highlighted position.

There was something profoundly disconcerting about nineteen kilometers worth of death and destruction behaving like an upset puppy, trying to appease its master by offering a favorite toy, but that was the picture that rose, unbidden, in Luke's mind.

His father seemed to receive a similar impression – and appreciate the crude but sincere show of sympathy. There was a weird sound – some expression of emotion, mangled by the vocoder, the young Jedi assumed – and the worst of the boiling rage bled away, before the Sithlord tilted his head slightly upwards, and said, "Thank you, Lady, but exact firing solutions for the Emperor's current position will not be necessary, at present."

"Girl got the right idea, though; it's just the execution that needs some polishing," came a low but vicious rumble from the sidelines.

"Indeed," Piett started, voice soft but determined. "As this is a long-term trap, it will take a little patience to …"

"… spring it properly," Lord Vader cut in.

By the look in the admiral's eyes, that had been not the originally intended conclusion of the sentence, but the smaller man wisely kept his silence while the gleaming helmet turned towards the young Jedi.

"It's a tried and true method for dealing with traps," the Sithlord continued – and for a timeless moment, the young rebel had the oddest sensation of a boyish smirk hiding behind the armor-mask.

Piett would have considered alternative strategies, first, if Luke read the older man correctly, but then the admiral's eyes flicked from father to son and back and something seemed to occur to him. Thin lips quirked into a dangerous sort of smile.

"Quite right, milord," Piett agreed, with a scarily smug tone of conviction.

And that, the young rebel decided, was the sound of the Emperor's plan imploding, even more spectacularly than Luke had hoped for.

Provided, of course, that the future would stay for once as clouded as Master Yoda had always pronounced it to be, to the ancient Sith.

* * *

A/N: I honestly didn't mean for the _Lady_ to take up a speaking role. She just sneaked up on me – for a ship the size of Manhattan, she's disturbingly good at that ….


	11. Gambit

As if summoned by the thought, the holo-display chose this exact moment to switch to another scene, that of a grey-clad officer bowing low before a tiny blue figure.

"Of course, Your Majesty. Lord Vader will be informed immediately," the uniformed man said.

At his son's momentary spike of panic at the uncanny timing, the resident Sithlord shook his head. "Given my earlier outbreak, an urgent summons from the Emperor was to be expected."

A minimal pause and Luke could all but see the smirk again, even wider now but less boyish, more predatory. "He likes to meditate for some time before dinner – for someone immersed deeply into the Force, the reverberations of my anger should have been quite impressive, even at such a distance. He ought to have resurfaced with a headache the size of Centax-1 …."

"Blame it on me," Luke hurriedly offered, "tell him I'm more bull-headed than a bantha bullock – Uncle Owen would have certainly agreed."

"Uncle Owen …" the deep mechanic voice started but then dismissed the topic with a shake of the head. "There will be time for that, later. For now we must ensure that the Emperor gets to see what he expects – such as a few minutes delay, because people hesitate to disturb me, even bearing His Majesty's orders, in my current mood."

"Captain Kallic has been trying to comm me, for the last three minutes, milord. Without success, obviously," Piett provided quietly. "I expect he is on his way, here, now."

Obligingly, the display jumped to a schematic of the command tower, and a human lifesign moving along a projected line.

"No doubt he is wondering if it shouldn't be _Admiral _Kallic, by now," Lord Vader went on – and the predatory smirk was generally audible now, if the current admiral's uncomfortable shift of weight was anything to go by. "But that would be an overly extravagant conciliating gesture."

"Nonetheless, milord, a proper Corellian gambit needs a sham sacrifice; and since His Majesty is already gunning for me – most honest compliment I ever got from a politician – I propose we take him up on the suggestion …"

One arm wrapped protectively around his ribcage – the two senior officers had been standing closer to the back wall, meaning less space to build up momentum, but still, the impact couldn't have done already cracked ribs any good – the general used the free hand to gesture down himself.

Beside the young Jedi, Lt. Veers gave a start but stayed silent; Luke sincerely hoped that meant the other man had understood the holochess analogy better than him – the young rebel knew the basic rules, but usually found better things to do with his spare time (_such as it was_).

The gleaming helmet tilted to give the older Veers a long considering look. "Agreed."

A black gauntlet gestured. "_Sleep!"_

Abruptly, the general went limp but stayed upright, dangling like a grotesque puppet in the invisible grip for a moment, before he was smoothly set back against the wall.

Then the Sithlord turned towards the admiral. "Emphasize the severity of his injuries, Admiral, let no one not explicitly trustworthy get near him and use only droids for treatment – the Lady will know how to ensure their discretion."

Lastly, Lord Vader addressed the two youngest men in the room. "It would be best if you weren't seen, at all. I expect you will be able to achieve this, Son?"

Luke swallowed nervously.

"I…" _Do or do not, there is no try!_ a sharp memory provided. "…yes. I can keep us below notice, Father."

Maybe he could have phrased that a little bit more positively, the young Jedi decided afterwards, but despite – or perhaps _because of_ – the gaffe, he could have sworn the boyish grin was back, behind the mask.

On the holo-screen, the blinking light went through the last few steps and came to a stop in front of the room. A few seconds later, the door opener reacted.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

For a man so evidently terrified, the _Lady_'s current Captain seemed … competent. After relaying the Emperor's message and jumping out of the way when the Sithlord pushed past him, black cape flaring with the impetus of his passage, Cpt. Kallic exchanged a long look and a tense nod with Adm. Piett and called in the largish team he'd summoned to wait in a discrete distance.

Lurking in a rubble-free corner near the door, with the younger Veers hovering right next to his shoulder and projecting _'nothing to see here, move along'_ in a way that lit him up like Empire Day to anyone Force-sensitive, but kept the rest of the populace walking past Luke and his shadow without even a first, let alone a second glance, the young Jedi had little other choice but to watch the proceedings.

Some of the men were wearing full space gear, the young rebel noticed with interest – and promptly berated himself for being so slow on the uptake: even if the ship venting atmosphere would not have triggered general alarms, the Bridge was merely two decks above them, the initial decompression had to have been visible from there.

Luke swallowed, a bit queasy. He had seen enough ships take breaching damage in battle, severe enough to start hemorrhaging atmosphere. Close up, air moisture, flash-frozen upon contact with hard vacuum, trailed in glittering veils after the injured ships… No wonder, the Captain had been frantically trying to reach his admiral, minutes before the call from Coruscant had come in.

The sound of Piett issuing his orders concerning the general to the medical team, pulled the young Jedi back to the present.

"Do not move him until you have immobilized his back and legs and then only with utmost care – I suspect a spine injury and severe fractures to the pelvic bones, at least. And once you got him to med-deck, let the droids take care of him – only droids, am I clear?"

"Droids, sir?" one of the black-uniformed medics seemed shocked. "But sir, you know the general …"

"I know," Admiral Piett snapped angrily, "that Lord Vader has said _'get him to the droids!'_ And given the mood he's in, I intend to follow that order to the letter – anything else will most probably spell a death sentence, should his lordship find out, understood?!"

Visibly unhappy, the medic acknowledged the order and obeyed.

Taking note of the twitch of a grimace marring his companion's face, Luke waited until the commotion had died down and the two of them had made it out of the room and past the next corner, before he whispered, with a vague gesture behind them, "What was that about?"

The lieutenant shrugged, uneasily. "Droid holding down a disoriented Clone War veteran – generally not a good idea. Most of the senior officers and non-cons – those old enough, at least – really hate the clunkers …"

The young rebel _did_ grimace. On a backwater like Tatooine, a moderately run-down medi-droid was your best bet to get competent medical help for situations that went beyond the scope of home remedies; consequently, he'd never thought twice about accepting their aid on the Alliance ships. Dredging up vague memories of past history lessons, though, he thought he could see Veers' point.

As pragmatic as his father's decision had been from a confidentiality point-of-view, to the uninformed it had to appear deliberately cruel.

The Emperor would certainly approve, Luke decided gloomily.

* * *

A/N: Centax-1 is, by my deductions, the largest moon of the planet Coruscant; I reached that conclusion by combining the fact that the largest moon (which Wookiepedia refuses to name!?) was destroyed by the Yuuzhan Vong and that the other three moons were explicitly mentioned to have existed in later eras. I might be wrong – I'm not into the New-Jedi-Order-era-and-beyond EU – so feel free to correct me if you know better.


	12. Interlude

I had a rather taxing week – the muse decided to unwind a little, before we have a go at out-scheming Palpatine…

* * *

Using devious routes, the two young men eventually returned to their quarters. They found a grumbling astromech waiting for them there, staring in pointed disapproval at a likewise present medi-droid – and its prospective patients, as soon as they came into view.

Jacking into a nearby console, the little droid kept berating them profusely for getting themselves hurt recklessly, for the entire time it took for the assorted bruises and contusions to be taken care off with liberal doses of bacta spray and some small lacerations to be sealed. By mutual silent agreement, the two young men ignored him studiously.

As soon as the medi-droid had finished its duties, though, R2 removed himself from the access point, rolled over to the other droid with a clearly querying string of tweets and beeps and, once the medi-droid had given what was apparently a satisfying answer in binary, handed something round and metallic to the latter.

Luke barely had the time to note absently that the thing bore an uncanny resemblance to a slightly deformed, bluish thermal detonator before the astromech shot past him at top speed and the Force screamed in warning. Wasting no further time with idle speculations, the young Jedi ran after the fleeing droid, his assigned shadow following closely at his heels.

They had barely made it into the next room of the suite, with the doors snapping sealed behind them at more than usual speed, before a muffled sound of electricity unleashed and a strong wash of residual static racing across the floor reached them.

R2, who had taken refuge on the tiled, non-conductive grounds of the fresher, slowly ambled back into the main suite with a warble that was readily recognizable as half self-satisfied triumph, half palpable relief.

The young rebel stared at his droid in consternation. "Artoo! What in the Sandmother's name was that?!"

"ECD," Lt. Veers supplied promptly. "Hope, you've inherited your old man's talent with mechanics. Or else, that his lordship finds droid repairs relaxing. Otherwise, that 2-1B is for the scrapheap – at pointblank range, that was one memory wipe with prejudice!"

The young Imperial grinned "On the plus side, we can be reasonably sure that no one's listening in on us in these rooms, anymore – any bugs will have literally fried in the discharge …."

At the mention of possible spying devices, R2 whistled derisively – triggering another fainter, almost warning wash of static to race across the floor that had the astromech jump and hastily amend his statement with a longer string of beeps.

The two young men shared a look.

"Artoo," Luke started, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "please, don't provoke the largest warship in the known galaxy. She exceeds your weight class by a factor of … uh, no idea, something with a full dozen zeroes in it, probably."

With a hasty look at the ceiling he added, "And thank you, _Lady_, for clearing the rooms for us."

There was no detectable sign of acknowledgment – and still, the young Jedi couldn't shake the feeling that someone was regarding him with smug satisfaction ….

Still grumbling softly to himself, the short droid attached himself to another access point which came to life after a little coaxing.

_Master Ani suggested unconventional measures to ascertain confidentiality_, the display read. _ECD was unexpected, yes? Ship provided effective methods but not uncommon ones._

There was just the slightest emphasis on _Ship_ that might have counted as a (highly unusual) token of respect, but Luke barely noticed it. He was too busy mouthing _'Master Ani?!'_ in sheer disbelief.

Perhaps not as readily familiar with the name Anakin, the younger Veers was frowning in confusion beside him, before he caught up from context and his eyes went wide in incredulous shock; the young rebel would have thought his stranded gulley fish impression hilarious if he couldn't relate so very well.

Nonchalantly ignoring the stunning effect his mode of appellation had had on his audience, the astromech went on to inform them of the place and time Lord Vader had decided on, for the interrupted meeting to adjourn to.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

By shipboard time, the next meeting would be close to midnight, meaning less traffic on the corridors and resultantly less chance of detection at the price of a severely curtailed night's sleep. Luke was _way_ too wired to even consider resting in advance, though.

Doing as the younger Veers had suggested – if more than half in jest, as the lieutenant protested when the young rebel asked his droid friend to scare up some tools – and taking care of the mechanical damage the detonating charge had wrought, took off some of the edge.

He was still restless afterwards, though, and so, having set a harrumphing astromech to the task of trying to get the hapless medi-droid's processing unit to reboot, Luke remarked wistfully how he'd like to spend some time in a training room, now.

Lt. Veers promptly took him literal. "You want to go spar, now?"

The young rebel had been thinking flight simulator, or perhaps shooting range; but on second thought, a physical workout would do the trick, too.

Before he could do more than nod, however, the young Imperial continued with a shrug, "Well, Lord Vader has a large training hall further down this deck…."

"Ah, no." Luke could feel the residual imprint of his father's past bad moods _from his current position_ if he allowed his senses to stretch just the tiniest bit in that direction; and though the Sithlord had wisely taken his fighter for a spin outside, to burn off his remaining anger removed from the immediate opportunity to decimate his crew any further, the young Jedi didn't want to tempt fate. "Going there wouldn't be … very wise, at the moment, I'm afraid."

Any ordinary training rooms aboard came with their own pitfalls that Luke wasn't in the mood to face, right now, and so he'd just resigned himself to find some other way to burn off the excess energy, when the younger Veers pointed out that the suite was spacious enough to serve as their own training area. All they needed to do, was shove all of the furniture away from a thickly carpeted zone (_lounge, possibly? The former-farmboy-turned-rebel had only limited experience with those …._).

Luke could have cleared the area in one sweep using the Force – but couldn't bring himself to apply the latter on chairs, in the lieutenant's presence. The uncomfortable memory made him uncommonly eager, too, to promise not to cheat in the following sparring match by using the Force.

Some rooting through his generous new closet unearthed – rather unsurprisingly, given the wealth of garments (all black) in there – some loose black clothes suitable for exercising. And as a smug R2 pointed out, all of Lt. Veers' onboard possessions had been transferred into a side wing of the suite, anyway.

After a bit of warm-up, the two young men circled each other for a few seconds, then started to throw playful punches, easily dodged, at each other to get a feeling for the other's way of moving.

After the long weeks of hammering various Force techniques into his muscle memory, Luke felt a bit felt strange to let simple gravity rule his movements. Strange – but not necessarily in a bad way.

The feeling held until he met the ground face-first, with enough momentum to see stars, breath stolen away by a preceding fist (_or elbow?)_ to the solar plexus and his arm twisted up behind his back with all but dislocating force. He was pinned in that brutal hold for about three rather painful seconds before his opponent released him and stepped back, and Luke flopped over onto his back, abused arm cradled protectively against his chest.

Lt. Veers was towering over him, arms akimbo. "That. Was. Pathetic!"

Lowering his voice somewhat, the young Imperial shook his head. "You fight like a bar-brawler. Are you that dependent on the Force? Or ...

Or is that the style the r... _Alliance_ taught you?" Incredulous disapproval dripped, thick as molasses, from the last sentence.

"Errr ... I'm a pilot," the young rebel countered defensively. "I'm not supposed to do much ground fighting. I do the regular fitness training and I'm quite a good shot with a blaster. But unarmed combat training just never came up, really."

Not even with Yoda, who had the drummed the maxim: _Your life, your lightsaber is – lose it, do not!_ into his head with vehemence (by way of whacking his shins, mostly), and put lessons in recalling his saber back to his hand forward as plan B.

The lieutenant started to frown. "That's ... That just won't do!"

He held out his hand to pull Luke upright again.

"You should really talk to Piett," the younger Veers continued in a hushed voice, "he's more your weight class – and it's a pretty well-kept secret but he can be a vicious little critter if you make it past his near endless patience and he knows all about getting picked on for size. He could probably teach you tricks I've never heard about.

But for now…."

The following hour made the young Jedi seriously rethink his decision to label a few choice Imperials – and a certain Navy lieutenant in particular – as _not-evil_, in his mind.

Luke was quickly turning just as bruised and sore as he'd been before his encounter with the unfortunate medi-droid. The only consolation was that the other man was dripping sweat in about equal measure as the young rebel was. Luke mentally apologized to the spirit of the old Jedi master, for without Yoda's grueling swamp-race-climb regiment, he would have been paste, ages ago.

To add insult to injury, the younger Veers kept remarking nostalgically how he really needed to get a hold of a couple of Army sergeants who had apparently taken it upon themselves to show "Iron Max's little boy" the ropes, back when the latter had been a green cadet-to-be.

All in all it was a good thing, R2 had managed to get the medi-droid up and running again by the time the two young men decided to call it a day – Luke was really proud of the way his elbow had connected with the lieutenant's nose, when the latter tucked down his chin to avoid crashing into the floor with the back of his head after the young rebel had put all he had left into that final tackle. He _had_ been learning some things in the whole ordeal, yes, he had!

* * *

A/N: I haven't been able to locate any data on the Lady's tonnage, yet – if anyone knows where to find that piece of information, please, share your knowledge! A rough guesstimate based on her overall dimensions and the assumption that she's build like an actual ship, that is: she would float if dropped into water (very, very carefully, mind, it's one hell of a splash ;), places her in the area of about 20 billion tons. With R2 in the 32 kg weight class, that's a factor in the twelve-digit range. Not bad for a wild guess, flyboy! :P

A/N2: I'm unjustly vilifying the Alliance here – let's just assume they fell for the Jedi's ancient aura of mystique and expected the boy to already know what he was doing. Too bad that canon repeatedly treats a Jedi without his saber as principally rendered harmless, regardless of the fact that a telekinetic fighter with superhuman speed and (jumping) power logically should be able to punch straight through a human(oid)'s torso. The EU apparently provides some examples of unarmed combat skills among Force users, though mainly from the Great Galactic War era – maybe the practice had (mostly) gone out of style by the time Palpatine came around? Must be that _'more civilized age', _I guess. Good thing that neither Luke nor the younger Veers have any real idea of what a Force user _is supposed_ to know...


	13. Strategizing

There was a whole section of the med-deck set apart for Lord Vader's private use – Luke really didn't want to think too hard about what _that_ might imply.

Nevertheless, the existence of discreet, Force-users-only side-entrances made clandestine meetings that involved an allegedly still-in-surgery participant much easier. R2-D2 had described their positions (in extensive detail) on a schematic of the ship before heaving himself into the maintenance shaft closest to Luke's quarters; this far away from the hangars, astromechs weren't exactly inconspicuous – and if the jaunty whistle was anything to go by, the little droid was actually looking forward to his trip through the _Lady_'s innards.

Hoping his short mechanic friend wouldn't get himself into too much trouble – _no_ trouble was probably expecting too much, but hopefully he would reemerge in one piece – the young Jedi drew on the Force to spread a low-level cloud of _'just some off-duty officers, nothing special here'_ over Lt. Veers and himself when they made their own way to the nearest discreet entrance. From there on, Luke merely had to reach out and let the Force guide him to the nearby familiar presences – now that he knew them, he could have found the pair of senior officers in a crowd, with some effort, but since they were the only other living creatures around …

A magnetic field rippled apart at the young men's approach – _atmosphere containment, _inside_ a ship?! –_ and the young rebel caught sight of the two older Imperials. The admiral looked just as Luke had last seen him (perhaps with a somewhat less crumpled uniform); the general, on the other hand, had changed into a set of loose black clothes that looked suspiciously like the type his son had used for sparring.

The young Jedi promptly caught himself at the thought that the change of attire (and a hint of damp around the collar) hopefully meant that the tall man had finally spent some time inside a bacta tank – _and the galaxy was surely tilting off its plane if the state of health of one of the most effective rebel hunters had Luke _Bright-hope-of-the-Alliance_ Skywalker worried_.

With an internal sigh of resignation at the hopelessly tangled state of his allegiances, the young rebel concentrated on the tail end of the older men's conversation before they became aware of the newcomers.

"You're lucky, Firmus, that by now it's generally known – and even grudgingly accepted – that we're pretty good friends," Luke heard the elder Veers say, "from what I heard, the _Thunders_ were _this_ close to committing mutiny when your orders for my treatment made the rounds …."

"Good. Discontent among the ranks was the intended result, wasn't it?"

"Ah… right. Remind me not to get on your bad side for real, will you?"

Piett smirked – and the young rebel quickly decided to trust in the greater tactical experience the general's longer years of service brought forth and stay on the short Navy man's good side, too, if possible at all.

He stepped down a little harder than strictly necessary to alert the two senior officers of their approach while he made his way into a sort of surgical theater and the (presumed) physician's office set up at one side, little more than chairs around a large holo-display and just enough desk space to take notes in a datapad, where the two elder men had found themselves seats.

There was barely the time for an exchange of nodded greetings, before Luke felt his attention drawn to another side entrance. His father was not in such a black mood anymore, but the flames were certainly still blazing high.

Piett caught Luke's shift of focus, Veers – both of them, actually – caught Piett's and then the three Imperials rose in unison to greet their Supreme Commander.

Just outside the flare-range of the black cape, R2-D2 trundled after the Sithlord, twittering softly to himself – or maybe he was making conversation with _'Master Ani'_, blithely disregarding any signs of the latter's high temper. Luke wouldn't have put it past the short astromech.

The gleaming helmet dipped for the tiniest nod of greeting and the admiral cleared his throat.

"If I may ask, milord, how did the conversation with the Emperor go?"

"I assured him of my full confidence in drawing my son to my side – a confidence he did politely not question aloud. Instead he was full of freely dispersed, subtly admonishing advice, laced with a few artful reminders that my dearth of parenting experience, courtesy of perfidious Jedi machinations, was to blame for my lack of immediate success."

The vocoder allowed for little inflection, keeping the tone of the summary matter-of-fact. There was no mistaking the outrage at this further attempt of sabotage in the Force, though, both in Lord Vader and his audience.

"His glee at a further deterioration of my mood, leaking through my shields, was well-hidden but not entirely contained," the Sithlord went on. "Not that I would have detected it, had I not been consciously on the lookout for it. He then magnanimously offered his assistance, reminding me of the fact that he had some experience in placating frustrated Jedi pupils and of course he wouldn't take no for an answer. I am expected to present you by the end of the week, Son."

The flames were licking towards Luke again, trying to envelope him; and while it was nowhere near as powerful a shield as it had been before, the protective gesture became somehow even more daunting for the fact that the young Jedi was pretty sure that this wasn't a conscious act on part of his father.

"This… _invitation_ strengthened my conviction that it had been the right decision to go for Scenario One," Lord Vader meanwhile brought his report to a close.

Luke breathed a sigh of relief – and then felt more than saw the young man beside him (_and the older one half opposite_) straighten further; it was hard to call it anything but _bracing themselves_. Even if the young rebel had come to disregard the fact that Scenario One had left both Veers dead on the floor, _they_ obviously hadn't.

The young Jedi reflexively reached for the Force to keep his stomach from dropping to hull level, some two hundred decks below. _But certainly Father wouldn't… _

Luke didn't realize his mistake until he could all but _hear _the flames crooning back at him: _For you, he would,_ they insisted, _for you – for family – he would do anything… _The whispers rang true, too true, and for a timeless moment the young Jedi was tempted, oh so tempted, to just lean into their searing embrace and let all anguish burn away – and never mind the fact that this might mean to leave a galaxy in ashes in his wake.…

Sheer desert-bred tenacity allowed the former farmboy to force his mind back on a more productive track.

"So he fell for it, right?" the young rebel asked. "He's smugly getting comfortable with some popcorn and awaits the next round of explosions."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him – and from the feel of it, so did the fourth. Then Lord Vader did something hitherto unprecedented: he chuckled. The vocoder added some chilling reverberations to the sound, but the underlying grim amusement was unmistakable.

"Indeed," the Sithlord agreed. "And for the first round of fireworks to dazzle His Majesty's eyes: I am certain he is already aware of his success in goading me into a violent temper, earlier; as soon as the communications lockdown the Lady is currently upholding is released, he will doubtlessly learn about more recent events. A medical discharge, stated officially to be due to _'complications arising from injuries sustained on Hoth', _should sate his appetite for a slow death, wouldn't you agree, General?"

After a split-second of alarm, the elder Veers was quick to embellish the ploy with further details, as was the admiral and – to near everyone's surprise – the younger Veers.

A transport off the ship in a medical capsule, with a hand-picked escort of stormtroopers ostentatiously devoid of any personal allegiance to the incapacitated man, and a quietly filed discharge were the main ingredients; add a conspicuous lack of any further mention of the suddenly disfavored general and scuttlebutt would take care of the rest. Especially if the elder Veers fell prey to a discreet disappearance soon after – the rumor mill would doubtlessly tie itself in knots, wondering if that meant a hushed up suicide or a likewise clandestine assassination cum execution, respectively.

A barebones frame of verifiable facts, medical or otherwise, just enough to meet the requirements of bureaucracy, would make its way into the ship's various logs and other databases for those inclined to dig deeper, such as the Emperor's spies. As every other governmental institution, the military floated in paperwork and as Lord Vader never bothered to hide his deeds, standard procedure would be followed.

Only a very dedicated investigator – or one with a very specific target in mind – would find that the date of _General _Veers' hospitalization coincided with the very last day a _Lieutenant_ Veers was ever mentioned in the ship's logs. Following his reassignment to a _'temporary duty',_ the young officer became a nonentity, bureaucratically speaking.

Luke had made clear immediately that he insisted on the admiral's version of Scenario One; deflating any protests the general might have had before they were even voiced by pointing out that this would remove the one man that had been actively pushed into the line of fire from the Emperor's immediate sphere of control without the need to construct another faked death.

That the young Imperial already had an all but truthful cover story for the _rebel_ side was something the young Jedi preferred not to speak of, aloud. That _'Butcher of Hoth'_ dilemma they would get around, somehow.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The next stage was damage control and led Luke to the somewhat startling realization that most of the crew and troops aboard the _SSD Executor_ would recognize Lord Vader's son on sight, by now, but only a select few were privy to the information how the notorious rebel Skywalker looked like, beyond the generic _short, blond, blue-eyed_ of the wanted posters – and that the two of them were one and the same.

Tangled in the Emperor's web, Lord Vader had not thought to make a secret of the latter fact; but being a taciturn man by habit he had not advertised it either, beyond those most necessary to be informed. Given his mode of transportation on arrival, Luke was sure to be known as Lord Vader's _rebellious_ son; but since the initial reveal had been that row including Gen. Veers, and that one had been **_eye_**witnesses only, until the young Jedi had raised his voice to call his father just that, people addressing him had stumbled through a mix of _sir_ and _milord_ from there on. No one not currently in the room had ever called him _Skywalker_ aloud.

Even thinking back to his impromptu reconnaissance tour, Luke couldn't recall a single instance when those decrying Skywalker's disastrous influence on Lord Vader's temper had ever mentioned the former's presence aboard; the young rebel had simply taken that for granted, seeing how _he_ knew his position all too well.

Naturally, the Emperor could be expected to leak the information, eventually, when and to whom he thought it most advantageous. Sheer improbability would keep the damage contained though, unless there was an open declaration by those involved – a declaration the ancient Sith had slyly proposed as a method to show the alienated offspring the sincerity of Lord Vader's intentions.

The added side benefit of cutting off Luke's most substantial line of retreat by making it impossible for him to return to the Alliance had gone without mention; it had been obvious enough for the Sithlord – if not something he'd considered a flaw, at the time – but the young Jedi shuddered at the thought of walking right into that one, unprepared.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

With the most developed of the Emperor's traps countered, the planning went from mere reacting to taking a more proactive course.

* * *

A/N: for the next couple of weeks, updates may come at odd intervals and possibly not even once a week. I will be travelling a lot and only sporadically get near a computer or an internet connection. Never fear, though, the story isn't abandoned; I won't stop until the Emperor has gone down in flames, for good.


	14. Lining Up

Alright, I'm back. But I have now several weeks of RL backlog (including replies to reviews written four weeks ago – my apologies) to catch up with, so no promises for next Sunday. I'll aim for bi-weekly updates and hope for some extras in the alternating weeks…

* * *

_If faced with superior strength, do not try to block the blow but deflect it,_ had been one of the first lessons on swordplay Yoda had taught Luke (if not exactly in that word order).

In a way, that was what they were trying to do here, too, the young Jedi decided.

No one in the room deluded themselves to the point of assuming they could _out-politick_ the ancient master-schemer; but they had other talents. While the most straightforward reaction _("Lord Vader want's you dead, you ARE dead as soon as he finds you, he's not exactly the _subtle_ type" was a comment that sprang to mind)_ held only a limited chance of success, that didn't mean that blunt-force methods were entirely out of question. After all, every deflection also created an opening….

So, if the Emperor was goading Lord Vader to go on a rampage and wreak havoc among the Imperial military, they would oblige the old tyrant – just with a little sideways slant.

The initial sacrifice of a commander as useful and popular (both with the general public, thanks to the victory on Hoth, and among the ranks) as Veers, would hopefully be impressive enough to detract attention from the fact that the following victims were less arbitrarily chosen. The carefully wrought network of opposing factions counterbalancing each other that lay at the heart of His Majesty's ruling style, could hardly be expected to remain unshaken if the Sithlord used as a pivotal cornerstone was deliberately upset, now could it?

As any action against the Emperor was treason in any case and there were no mitigating circumstances for that, _unless you won, _Lord Vader and his men were playing for keeps; but all of the older commanders had seen a secession war in their time and had no wish to see another. For the main populace, Lord Vader was the Emperor's designated heir, anyway; but any further groundwork to smoothen the transition after the final confrontation was an added bonus.

Accordingly, a list of prospective targets was carefully compiled to serve a dual purpose: (a) to keep up a credible façade for the Emperor, to keep His Majesty's suspicions lulled by the apparently unimpeded unfolding of his plans; and (b) to cull potential contenders that might challenge the Imperial line of succession.

For the next several minutes, names and details went flying back and forth across the table, along with possible venues to let the persons mentioned meet the misfortune of drawing the wrong sort of attention and provide the Sithlord with a provocation to lose his increasingly frayed temper. Lord Vader started the list with a number of courtiers that were more irritants than serious contenders but would serve as an additional smoke-screen for the more significant targets.

"Treuten Teradoc," the Sithlord went on, "he was one of Tarkin's protégés until he became enamored with the idea of fleets of smaller, yet more versatile ships. Obsessively competitive – as he's currently stationed in the Maldrood sector, he can be easily induced to remove the stain of Nizon from the Empire's honor."

"Zsinj, he's a dyed-in-the-wool Palpatine fanatic," Gen. Veers proposed next, then bared teeth in a sharp smirk. "But the Quelii sector has always been an unruly lot…"

A thoughtful frown and Adm. Piett suggested, "Kermen might fall either way, he won't oppose an obviously stronger power but if he sees a chance to get to the top himself, he certainly has the drive to take it."

"Same for Carvin," that was the elder Veers again, "a bit of a stickler for rules but power-hungry enough to jump at a chance for easy glory."

With a side-look at the rebel ace present, he added, "Shouldn't be too hard to bait him accordingly…"

Luke had listened quietly, so far, trying to commit all the names and stations bandied about to memory in the resigned knowledge that rebel actions, real or imaginary, would be the lure of choice to draw his father towards the condemned men – and preferably sightings, _real ones,_ of notorious rebel Luke Skywalker and his Rogue Squadron.

"If he's in charge of a legitimate target, I'll find a way to aim a mission his way," the young Jedi conceded and the list went on.

"Admiral Harrsk might be a great asset," Piett put forward with a certain hesitation, "if he could be convinced it's for the best of the Empire."

While there was definitely no love lost for the men mentioned previously, this time Luke felt that the admiral did not actually wish his colleague any harm. _Interesting. Mentioned a friend so he wouldn't get caught in the crossfire accidentally?_

The gleaming black helmet swung around to scrutinize the short Navy man for an endless second.

"We'll see," the mechanic baritone growled and the rest of the room dared to breathe again.

"General Ashen," Gen. Veers offered after a minimal pause, "damn good soldier but he's Palpatine's man, through-and-through."

"As Commander of the Palace Forces he shouldn't become involved until after the fact, as I have no intention to confront the Emperor on his home turf. He will be dealt with according to his reactions then."

"What about… the Chiss, milord?" More hesitation from Piett, but this time the young Jedi got the impression that the cause wasn't necessarily amity but that the admiral would rather not have this _Chiss_ for an enemy.

_Interesting indeed!_

"Chiss?" Luke echoed, inquiringly.

"Near-human species from beyond Wild Space; blue-skinned, dark-haired, with somewhat reflective, solid red eyes." Piett explained helpfully – answering the question by withholding any sort of useful information, presumably pending Lord Vader's decision on the topic.

The young rebel wasn't having any of that, though. "Ah. And those inhabitants of the Unknown Regions are relevant to this conflict now, how exactly?"

"Not the people as such but a single member – Grand Admiral Thrawn," his father cut in, paused for a moment's consideration and went on, "Again, he will be dealt with according to the way he chooses to involve himself."

_And didn't that sound as if even Lord-kriffing-Vader would rather not disturb that particular Krayt dragon without good cause? _Luke made a mental note to find out everything the Alliance might know – and whatever he could scrounge up during his remaining stay here – about the alien grand admiral. _And was _that _not a contradiction in terms in and of itself?!_

The young Jedi shook off the useless speculations in time to find the topic turned towards the intermittent Imperial victories that would be needed to keep the Emperor complacent.

"I can't just commit Alliance forces to serve as gun fodder!" the young rebel protested hotly. "We don't have the numbers to waste them, I'm not a member of High Command, so I couldn't even if I wanted to, and then there's the principle of the thing!"

There was a moment of stony silence but Luke met the disapproving stares head-on. He would never get used to counting losses as part of _victory_, the young Jedi decided; they had always felt like some personal failure to him – and the callous way the senior officers seemed to consider a certain death rate _prerequisite_ to success, wasn't an attribute he would strive to acquire, the young rebel resolved.

"Then I propose that you subscribe to the better part of valor and retreat, very rapidly, as soon as you're engaged by superior forces," the admiral offered finally, as the most sympathetic reaction.

"Xizor, then," the growl of the mechanic baritone brooked no argument. "Can you take up with – or at least appear to – with the Black Sun? That skyhook has been an eyesore hanging above Coruscant for far too long…"

"I … wait a minute. Xizor is involved with the Black Sun?!" Xizor Transports didn't deal with the Alliance any more than the Alliance dealt with criminal organizations like the Black Sun – officially. But a sweet little _(decently armed!)_ transport like the Vigo occasionally got… _misplaced _and, well, most of the Alliance's sources of necessary goods were at least a little _shady_…

"_Prince_ Xizor," the formal title held nothing but contempt, "for all that he has the Emperor's ear, is _head_ of the Black Sun. His Majesty is, of course, aware of that."

The Sithlord's scathing comment raised some eyebrows – and then Luke could all but _see_ the gleeful mental image of (a) a Coruscanti palace toppling over and (b) a large space station disintegrating under sustained fire, respectively. The wealthy Falleen evidently didn't have too many friends, here. The young rebel wasn't quite sure if it was his criminal dealings or his closeness to the Emperor – or some other personal failings Luke wasn't yet aware of – that made Xizor so unpopular.

The combination of factors_ – crime boss of high social standing, in league with the Emperor but clearly at odds with Lord Vader – _made for a very good candidate, though, for the ancient Sith to reveal the identity of Lord Vader's son to. _No need to go tangling with him, I bet the guy will _come for me_, sooner or later…_

Voicing his thoughts aloud, treated the young Jedi to another flick of black flames towards him, but apart from a pair of black gauntlets creaking with strain the Sithlord kept his temper.

Nonetheless, it was obviously time to steer the conversation on another track. "Right. I guess that's enough of a list to start with? Things will change anyways, as they go along…"

Another round of stares greeted Luke's unsubtle attempt to change the topic, but then Piett quirked his lips. "Of course. Play the game as it is, not as you planned it to be."

The way the admiral was saying the words, it sounded like a quote the young Jedi ought to recognize – and in a way, he did. Chewbacca had told him the same – or at least, Han had used those words as translation – when trying to teach Luke the basics of Dejarik.

_Weird._

Unimpressed or not with his offspring's grasp of subtlety (_or preference for spur-of-the-moment tactics_), Lord Vader accepted the overture to turn on another subject. "Now, as for the Emperor himself…"

* * *

_*Ducks* Okay, we're still not through with the planning session, but I simply didn't get there. _

A/N2: _"Play the game as it is, not as you planned it to be" _is a direct quote, originally concerning Go – and more subtle games – played with and/or against a shogun, from _Ayezur's_ splendid historical AU **_Vaster Than Empires_**.I thought it fitting for the situation here, too. Incidentally, the story is set at pretty much the same time period as another, famous work I paraphrased earlier in the chapter. Kudos if you recognize it. ;-)


	15. Game Plan

Before, the atmosphere in the room couldn't have been called relaxed, really, but now the tension instantaneously hit the ceiling. Even the ship seemed to be caught up on it, seeing how Luke felt his hairs stand on edge, again, and R2 gave an indignant squawk.

"The reason why I always prefer to leave my flagship behind when I have to present myself to the Emperor is that Palpatine likes to exert a direct influence on all the commanders of vessels and units around him. It is a subtle effect, usually, a general feeling of loyalty and assuredness of success, mostly – though it might become more direct control," the Sithlord began.

_And that's news, not only for a rebel but to the Empire's elite, too, and the worst kind at that!_ The young rebel wasn't sure if the other men could recognize what this meant in terms of how powerful the ancient Sith had to be; but suddenly Luke had a much better understanding of what had set off the Veers, father and son, when they had suspected the young Jedi of mind control tricks.

"In any case," Lord Vader continued, "it is an external influence and as such a distraction – and he has been known to retract his power abruptly, which is a decidedly disorienting experience. A fatal one, more often than not, if it happens in the midst of battle."

The Sithlord looked up, thoughtfully. "A ship aware of this effect might compensate for any unexplained lapses among her command crew, though…."

_YES_

Less acutely concussed than the last time he'd heard the colossal warship give voice, Luke was in a much better position to appreciate the peculiar vocalization. It wasn't a female voice by any definition, more like a synthesis of every single person talking within the… _uh, hearing range _of the ship, ever; with gender and species ratios in the Imperial Forces being what they were, that meant predominately human male, but the simultaneous use of the entire range of human voice pitch (and a bit beyond that, too) made the resultant timbre sound decidedly inhuman.

The fierce determination was just as recognizable, though, as the pleading had been before.

The gleaming helmet nodded, satisfied.

"Good. A confrontation in the middle of Coruscant would be unreasonably costly – much better to wait for His Majesty to leave his main defenses and strike at him elsewhere."

As far as the young rebel knew, chances were good that the ancient ruler would die of old age before _that_ happened.

As if in answer to his doubts – and the mirrored ones Luke could read off the youngest Imperial, at least – Lord Vader went on, "The Emperor is not quite the recluse he likes to appear – there are projects he takes a personal interest in. The second Death Star, for example, currently under construction in the Endor system."

"The what?!" The young Jedi wasn't sure who else had shouted the question in appalled disbelief but he definitely hadn't been the only one.

"You heard correctly," the Sithlord affirmed implacably. Then he turned his masked gaze at Luke, specifically. "In approximately six months, this information will be leaked to the Alliance – plus, ostensibly independently, the Emperor's schedule for a personal visit to said Death Star."

_It's a trap…._ For a moment, the young Jedi could all but see the combined Alliance fleet, lured in – _compelled, really_ – by this most irresistible of two-for-one targets, jump into a Sarlacc pit of encircling stardestroyers with the Death Star's vague form in the background, picking off the rebels at leisure like the Sarlacc's tongue.

A metallic baritone drew him back. "Presently, there is little more than a half-finished framework. A framework, however, with the major parts of its laser array already installed; and while its reactor core is not yet completely ready to ignite, for now it is protected by an energy shield projected from the nearby moon."

Luke opened his mouth to voice his intention to ensure that the technological monstrosity would never get any closer to completion – Alderaan had meant nothing but a name in a distant cosmography lesson to him _(too green and watery to feel entirely real)_ and then a sudden bout of nausea that had left him wondering if one could get space-sick with a delayed reaction, before he'd all but forgotten the unsettling sensation at the sight of Old Ben nearly keeling over; but he knew what losing Alderaan had done to Leia and … the young Jedi hastily shied away from the thought.

Fortunately, Luke's mental sidetrack went unnoticed, since his father had held up a quelling hand.

"You cannot react to that information, just now, Son – the Emperor would know that his plans have been compromised. He would even know who had betrayed it, as the list of people aware of this particular project is very short. And do not think that the Alliance might stumble on it_ 'on accident'_, either: The system is very remote, the natives have just barely reached sentience and there is nothing of any interest in the area but for a tiny Imperial garrison on the furthest moon of the gas giant Endor. Nominally, it is just enough of a presence to deter rebels or other disreputable individuals from using the system as a hiding place."

The young rebel bristled a bit at getting ranked with the _disreputable_ but wisely held his tongue while Lord Vader continued.

"As a handful of smugglers discovered recently, however, factually the system is a deathtrap. The outer asteroid belts are teeming with sensor probes and a squadron of stardestroyers, including two Interdictors, patrols the area, one or two of them openly, the rest hugging the mass shadows of the system's gas giants."

A moment's pause, for emphasis, and when the Sithlord continued, the flat inflection of the vocoder created an extraordinarily malevolent drawl.

"Naturally, all but perhaps a single destroyer will be gone, by the time you are ... _officially invited_ to visit the system..."

Luke could understand the logic of bidding their time, turning the trap back on its creator; and yet… something about the whole concept of the Death Star was so _wrong_ it made his skin crawl. Habit, not yet broken, made him reach for the Force to calm himself and though the flames licked towards him curiously, the young Jedi found that he could regain some peace of mind even in their presence.

_Much like the desert_, the back of his mind commented_ – never ignore it, it will eat you alive, but with the proper respect you can make a living, right next to it..._

When he trusted his voice again, the young rebel asked, "Fine, so let's assume we take the invitation – what happens then?"

"We kill him together."

_That was ... a rather short-and-to-the-point sort of plan._ Luke did his best to ignore that he hadn't fared too badly on similarly simplistic plans.

"It can't be that easy or he wouldn't still be Emperor, would he?" he challenged.

The black helmet inclined in minute concession. "The Red Guards are competent enough to take care of any ordinary assassins – and even a grief-crazed former Jedi or two."

A vengeful Sithlord, on the other hand, wouldn't even break his step to dispose of them, the dismissive tone implied – before the metallic voice abruptly went dead serious.

"But you are right, of course. Palpatine is a Sith – and a master, at that – and has been a Sith for many long decades. Twenty years ago, he was an outstandingly accomplished swordsman and while old age _has_ taken a toll, it would _not _do to underestimate him. He is also capable of the strongest Sith lightning I have ever seen or heard of. It is more than likely that he has other tricks still up his sleeves that even I have not found out about, yet."

Another shake of the gleaming helmet. "Neither one of us could hope for much of a chance against him, Son – but _together_ we _can _defeat him!"

The black flames were roaring in Luke's ears with the passionate conviction of that statement – a conviction so pervasive that the young Jedi knew, even without a quick look around, that everyone in the room shared it.

_Couldn't help but share it?_ Luke suddenly wondered, with the tale of the Emperor's far-flung mental influence still fresh on his memories. The young rebel didn't think it was a conscious effect on his father's part, but made a mental note to discuss the plan again – with Piett, preferably – when they had both slept on it and were a healthy distance away from Lord Vader's presence.

To that end, Luke quickly agreed to the rest of the details – the main points being some preparatory lessons with his father (lightsaber techniques, mostly, apparently there was a way to block Force lightning with one's blade); while in parallel a convincing way would be prepared, to gift the Alliance with enough information to tangle with the commanders on the previously compiled list and come out on top (when the subject had come up, the younger Veers had cleared his throat and said, very carefully _not _looking at anyone more senior, "Communications officer. A ship's – or ground station's – entire official communications and most of the gossip goes through their hands…").

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The meeting dissolved more or less in reverse order of appearance. Lord Vader was the first to leave – and his passage would clear the way of any bystanders that might witness the rest of the conspirators and start wondering – but Luke lingered at the periphery, intent on following the younger Veers' advice and get himself some additional lessons with a fighter of his own weight class (and/or simply a time to meet with the admiral in private). Gen. Veers would stay where he was, of course, in keeping with his _'battered-within-an-inch-of-his-life'_ role.

There had not been any visible change in attitude among the Imperials after his father's departure, but when the young Jedi hurried to catch up with the Navy man before the latter could get out of reach, his soft call of "Admiral, if I could..." faltered quickly at the vehement look in Piett's eyes when the short Imperial turned to face him.

"You don't agree with the plan?" Luke guessed.

The admiral laughed, harsh and mirthlessly. "All I know about the capabilities of Sith is that Lord Vader has been a front line fighter – and one more likely to be specifically targeted than most – for the last twenty years and is still standing. That's not nearly enough to make a judgment on plans for their disposal; as your father is the resident expert on them, however, I'll trust _his_ assessments."

_That's heartening, in a way, but doesn't help with the current conundrum._ Before the young rebel could say another word, however, a soft voice from behind him offered, "It's the Death Star, isn't it, sir?"

Piett nodded curtly, but seeing Luke's increased confusion, he bit out a more detailed explanation.

"I can reduce a planet's surface to molten slag, with a single order," the older man said, voice cold and hard and conveying a complete willingness to commit such things, too, "or target a single building. I can be _exactly as deadly as I have to be_ – unlike the Death Star, which has no purpose other than wholesale slaughter!"

The young Jedi could feel the deckplates beneath him start to tremble slightly as the ship reacted to her admiral's anger. Perhaps sensing the same, Piett took a deep calming breath.

"The first one was an atrocity, but to repeat the error?! That spawn of Tarkin's madness should have …." The admiral trailed off.

"Except… it wasn't _Tarkin's_ brainchild, was it? It was the Emperor's…" he ended softly.

There was a look in Piett's eyes that the young rebel recognized (no matter how hard he wished he hadn't seen it before) – a look that spoke of shattered worldviews. If the admiral hadn't been already involved in the scheme to bring down the Emperor, Luke could have sworn that there was a good chance for the older man to turn defector.

What kept the young Jedi troubled for a substantial portion of the remaining night was the question whether the _Lady_ would have followed her former Captain….

* * *

A/N: The Death Star _was_ Tarkin's brain child, among other people's, of course, but the Emperor was certainly quick to embrace the concept. Didn't keep him from pushing the blame for all that political/public opinion backlash squarely back on a dead man's shoulders _(overzealously putting to use what was _obviously _meant to be a mere deterrent!)_ when the thing's maiden voyage went so spectacularly wrong. (In this AU incarnation, at least).

If the Death Star had destroyed Yavin 4 with the rebels still on it, the general reaction would have been: _Terrible, terrible, but sometimes you have to take drastic measures to end a war_ (the Hiroshima/Nagasaki equivalent: horrific enough to put people off the nuclear option for the better part of a century, since, but it _did_ end WWII). Destroying the peaceful Core World Alderaan (founding member of the Republic, hub of civilization and fine arts _for tens of millennia_, etc. etc.), on the other hand, that's worse than nuking Paris in early 1941, when the Resistance just started to get pesky – pure spite, no strategic reason and the moral impact being solely to paint yourself as a savage monster, drawing all kinds of (previously noninvolved or even allied) parties into the opposition. For such a political mastermind as Palpatine, it's a curiously crude blunder….


	16. Lessons

The next day went by in a flurry of activity – they had had a day and a half left, starting with the Emperor's announcement of the deadline, as it would take the Lady about three-and-a-half days to reach Coruscant, from her current position (and hadn't the admiral _smirked_ when the young rebel had guessed only two-and-a-bit, before explaining patiently that, as flattering as the assumption was, the Lady was fast for her size – _very fast, even_ – but neither fighter craft nor a Mon Calamari cruiser).

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Agreed-on lessons or not, the sight of that crimson blade coming towards him made Luke's wrist burn and sent his heart racing, at the first moment – which, in turn, drove the black flames into a seething tumult of such self-loathing and hatred that the young Jedi could almost hear the Emperor laugh from half a galaxy away.

_And that just won't do! _His family had been enough of a plaything for the old Sith, they didn't need to do the job for him, too!

"Stop it, Father!" the young rebel snapped, "I'm not afraid of you!" – which was perhaps not the purest of truths at present, but _Luke was getting there!_ – "it's just memories. So stop playing the Emperor's game – if you lose control, every time you remember he's set you up against your own family, I better start planning for an alternative take on Endor, right now!"

There was an endless moment of black flames rearing back – in astonished shock about the sudden outburst, in preparation to lashing out instinctively or for some other reason, the young Jedi really didn't care – before the Sithlord nodded sharply and retreated half a step into a formal guard position.

"You have so much of your mother in you, Luke," the black-armored giant murmured, as softly as the vocoder would go, "always the voice of reason…"

A raspy noise, that might have been a throat getting cleared behind the mask. "Let us start again, Son. Show me what you know about parrying techniques…."

Nearly two hours later, the young rebel had an approximate sense of how much he _didn't_ know about lightsaber combat (he had realized very quickly, on Bespin, that his father had only toyed with him there, but he hadn't quite grasped how grossly he'd been out-classed); on the plus side, Luke now had at least one basic block and/or parry down pat (or was confident to get it down in the afternoon lesson, at the latest) for everything an opponent might throw at him, be it blade, blaster shot, random-article-turned-Force-propelled-projectile or, hopefully, Force lightning.

In theory, that last one wasn't any harder to block than any other energy shots, including the ones that had starred in his very first lesson about using the Force; in practice, however… well, there hadn't been any real one to _practice with_. Artificial limbs did not allow for its creation – and that had been a _nasty_ moment, to realize that his father had a full four of those and why; even if Lord Vader had brushed past the topic with only a few terse sentences. Anyways, the tricky part about Force lightning was the fact that it forked wildly, meaning that each tendril had to be caught and guided into the blade, either by some fancy blade work or else by using the Force to draw them to the blade.

_"Trust in the Force, let it guide you"_ was both heartening advice, under the circumstances, and not.

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Next on, Luke went over his thoroughly overhauled X-Wing, together with the senior tech chief he'd met earlier – who went by the name of Humer Aatu, as the young rebel finally learned – and, of course, R2-D2, as the astromech was an all but essential component for many tests.

"Better than fresh off the assembly line," was probably an accurate description, but Luke was even more impressed by how little of the work showed on the outside.

Unless an Alliance technician did an in-depth checkup on the machine, only an experienced pilot handling the fighter – or possibly one flying right next to it – might notice any difference. The former was unlikely, for as long as Luke managed to stay alive; while for the latter…

R2 warbled something cheerful, causing a nearby charging socket to spark warningly and STC Aatu to chuckle in indulgent disbelief.

"Ya li'l one said, _anyone asks, tell'em he had nothing ta do but polish her up, while ya went doing ya Jedi stuff_ – his words, not mine, m'lahd."

The young rebel felt another headache coming. "Artoo, we already had this discussion: no taunting the warship that outweighs you by billions and billions of tons while you're still inside her. And claiming her crews' work for yourself, within her earshot, counts as taunting!"

There was a deep, deep – almost subsonic – rumble shaking the deck softly, that might have counted as a purr (_or a laugh_); R2 grumbled something much less cheerful sounding and the tech chief laughed aloud.

He point-blank refused to translate the astromech's last statement, but in compensation, he invited Luke to share lunch with the _Lady_'s fighter tech crew. Once the nearest men got over their fearful awe – Aatu's recounting of the astromech vs. super star destroyer catfight went a long way, there – the young rebel felt surprisingly at home. Ground crew was apparently ground crew, no matter what vessels they served.

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Luke's meeting with Adm. Piett also proved rather educative.

The man could do the blank look of innocence to a degree that made the bare metal walls behind him look gaudy – and kept that look for the entire time it took the young Jedi to explain his theory cum misgivings about Lord Vader's (subconscious) influence on conclusions drawn in his presence. Afterwards, the admiral still stood by the claim he'd made in the early hours of the day, though.

Then, when Luke brought up the other reason why he'd come for the older man's advice, Piett laughed, genuinely amused, shook his head and said, "I wish I'd had the privilege of meeting his mother – she must have been a remarkable woman. Zev's appreciation for subtlety is certainly not a paternal heritage."

With an all-too-knowing look at the young rebel, he added, "Same could be said about you and yours, of course, Skywalker."

On hindsight, Luke considered this to be the first lesson of the following crash-course about how to level the playing field against an opponent that was bigger, stronger or otherwise at an advantage: _throw the other guy off-balance, verbally._

The second, more straight-out stated lesson was: _forget fair-play._ If the whole affair was one-sided to begin with, whatever you did could only make things _fairer_.

The third one could be summed up by: _play up your weakness._ The young Jedi was quick to put that one to the test later that afternoon: there was some deep satisfaction to be found in the way a remote _bounced_, right off the gleaming black helmet, when Luke's most pathetic _don't-hurt-me-please_ hunch distracted his father to the point where he completely failed to intercept the Force-launched projectile.

The fourth lesson had been, after all: _attack from an unexpected angle._

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Night had fallen again, when the presence of Lord Vader, prowling across the deck surrounded by a palpable cloud of black anger, cleared all personnel from a smaller side-hangar.

A single black-armored pilot, perhaps handicapped by the encumbering helmet, was cut off from any other retreat and sought refuge in the cockpit of an Assault Gunboat, to busy himself with preparations for takeoff.

It had taken very little effort – other than to keep pace with the Sithlord's much longer steps – for Luke to remain unnoticed on the way down to the hangar, shrouded in the shadow of the flowing cape and his father's hostile aura.

Now that the time for farewells had come, however, father and son found themselves as tongue-tied as for their very first meeting aboard.

"Son," Lord Vader said finally. _Stay! Keep! Protected! _the black flames hissed, swirling wildly in semi-conscious reluctance to let the young Jedi get out of reach.

Equal parts touched and annoyed – _he wasn't a child anymore, and had survived (among other things) all and anything the Empire had thrown at their most wanted enemy, for the last two years, thank you very much!_ – Luke did his best to brush off the clinging tendrils.

The action did nothing to calm the agitated Sithlord. A clenched fist unfolded and the young rebel stared half-incredulously at an admonishingly pointed finger.

Old, bitter-sweet memories made Luke react before another word could be uttered – and before common sense caught up with him.

_If you're going to say _"So don't you go haring off on some wild bantha chase, boy",_ I will never doubt again that Uncle Owen was related to you, _he thought very, very loudly.

For a priceless split-second, the outstretched hand froze and the young Jedi got the fleeting impression that the black mask was hiding his father gaping like a fish. Then Lord Vader, with great dignity, hooked his hands neatly into his belt.

The young rebel cleared his inexplicably congested throat – his uncle wouldn't have put up with that sort of cheek; he couldn't quite believe that he'd gotten through with it with his Sith of a father….

"May the Force be with you, Father," he said softly.

The vocoder produced a sort of huffing noise before it went back to its customary rumble and Luke made no effort to conceal his wide smile at the answering "and with you, Son."

It was probably a good thing, though, that the young rebel could jump into his X-Wing and hurtle into space, snugly hidden in the sensor shadow underneath the broad belly of the departing gunboat, right afterwards.


	17. Return

Trying to play the deadly game of cat-and-mouse that was life as a rebel against the Empire, with Lord Vader and his upper echelons as your secret allies, was rather like having a friendly Krayt dragon take up residence at your door step. Tremendously advantageous in theory, exceptionally nerve-wracking in practice.

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The initial return to the Alliance fleet had been deceptively easy. Now that the ancient Jedi was beyond harm, Luke could give a truthful, non-evasive account of the destination of his solo mission, and if he gave the impression that his stay on Dagobah had been a tad longer than in reality, and that his unfortunate encounter with a stardestroyer _(that had had no business being where it was!)_ had been resolved within a few hours, thanks to this newest acquisition to the rebellion's cause the young Jedi had brought along, then it was nobody's business but his own.

Zev – that was "Lt. Marcus Zev", as his companion had introduced himself – was welcomed into the Alliance with minimal fuss, too, since he came with the glowing credentials that a Jedi vouching for his sincerity entailed.

The fact that Zev would readily discuss all he knew about his COMPNOR activities, and even his latest experience as a Communications officer aboard a stardestroyer, lent further credence to the young Imperial's change of heart. Given the week-long pick-your-brain-inside-and-out session with Madine and a handful of Alliance Intelligence men that the lieutenant had to endure to that end, Luke wasn't really sure how that particular experience had left the two ex-Imperials with a bond of mutual respect – grudging on Madine's side (_no surprise there, the ex-commando wasn't the most congenial sort_), cheerful on Zev's; but in the latter's words, the intense questioning showed that (a) the Alliance general knew his job; (b) he took the newcomer serious enough to be considered a potential threat and (c) thought his knowledge valuable enough to check and triple check it.

Had to be an Imperial thing. Or maybe a career soldier thing, unfathomable to a simple farmboy.

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It hadn't been two weeks after Luke's adventure aboard the _Lady Ex_, though, when the trouble started: Luke got cornered by Leia one evening, whose talent to just look at things and **_see_ **had never been more obvious – or more scary.

"Lieutenant Zev is General Veers' son, isn't he?" the former senator asked and before the young Jedi could work past his sudden guilty shock and come up with a reasonable evasion, she had placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, Luke. If you are positive that his assistance in your escape and his will to renounce the Empire are genuine, of course that's all that matters. We wouldn't hold his ancestry against him; that would go against everything Ald... the Alliance stands for!"

It had been two years and yet, when Leia was none too careful, there were still slipups, sometimes. It warmed Luke's heart that the former princess had long since given up the need to be careful in his presence, that she trusted him that much when trust was such a rare and precious commodity in her life, these days.

_Even if she doesn't know how close the bond truly is – and until this war is over and we are all safe again, she must **not** know!_

As much as he loved his sister for her uncompromising ideals, though, Luke had spent too much time among cynics, lately.

"How did you find out?" he asked and somehow tried to convey: _who else knows about it?_

"I used to know Veers – the general, I mean – rather well when ... before I even knew what a Death Star _is_. Zev looks just enough like his father to recognize the family resemblance, under those circumstances. I doubt anyone else here would pick it up, though…"

Her eyes went distant, gathering the gleam that came from staring into a happier past, and the young Jedi, who knew the signs by now, simply let her lean against him until she found her way back. With a crooked half-smile and an equally mangled farewell, she was gone.

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It was three and a half weeks, when the Alliance High Command caught up with the latest Imperial military gossip; and again Leia came for Luke and told him.

"They killed him," she said, "they're trying to put the blame on us, in a roundabout way – _complications arising from injuries sustained on Hoth, indeed!_ – but it's clearly just a transparent excuse. He was perfectly fine afterwards, the whole galaxy saw that! I... Luke, will you tell Zev? I'm afraid people will start celebrating a bit when they hear..."

Luke nodded grimly. But there was definitely something else on his sister's mind, still. He voiced his concern.

"It's not... Madine said, if he got lucky, someone left him alone with a blaster for a bit; if not... then he's just _wishing_ he was dead and Isard got him or someone like her…."

The former princess looked down, then up again, voice and face set firmly. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone. And the timing is so suspicious – as far as we can tell, he was injured before Zev escaped with you, but not officially declared dead until a few days afterwards."

The mask cracked slightly and a tired young woman worried at her lower lip. "Do you think that is why they killed him?" _Or took him?_

"No," the young Jedi could reply truthfully, drawing conviction from the fact that, in the most literal sense, no harm had come to the elder Veers due to any of the younger's actions.

Too bad, that Leia must have caught some of the other evasions on the matter swimming through his head. Her parting smile lacked sincerity.

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In the following days, however, Leia made it her mission to make Zev feel welcome. The injustice of targeting family in lieu of the actual rebel was something the ex-senator could so tragically well relate to.

If those various _'missions'_ hadn't been Leia's favorite way of coping with her losses – and fairly successful, too, if the young Jedi was any judge – Luke would have felt even worse about the deception.

At first, the interactions between former princess and former officer had been stiffly polite; but it took a special brand of immovable object to stand up to Leia Organa on a mission, and Zev had the smarts to fold gracefully.

Of course, that didn't mean that things went on smoothly, from thereon.

"We could form a club – all us war orphans, you know", Leia said over shared cups of only mildly horrible caf, one evening, tone not as much morbid but belligerently defiant, causing both males to choke on their respective drinks.

Frowning at the obviously guilty reaction, the Alderaani princess rounded on her nearest neighbor. "Luke! You _did_ tell Zev I had figured it out, didn't you?!"

"He did," the young Imperial agreed. "Sorry, it's just, ah, ... startling."

Clearing his throat, he lifted his cup in a white-knuckled grip. "I'd rather join a club to bring down Palpatine."

"You already did. It's called the Alliance, for short," Luke said, in a weak attempt to lighten the mood, but the taller man shook his head.

"No. It's the Alliance _to Restore the Republic_ – which is a terrible idea, as far as I can tell, because the old one was so corrupted it _had_ to come down. Better to start a new one from scratch."

Leia's eyes lit up with a fire the young Jedi had come to dread.

The rest of the evening had something of the sick fascination of a speeder crash; while the former senator argued her point with inborn zeal and well-training eloquence, the ex-Imperial put up a credible fight by sheer stubborn conviction. Especially disorienting, Luke thought, were the points where Leia would occasionally tilt her head sideways, as if weighting two things against each other. The young Jedi couldn't shake the feeling that she was – at least partially – rehashing an argument she had held before.

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All in all, it was only reasonable for Luke to take up meditating whenever he could get away with it – sometimes tranquilly at rest, the way Master Yoda had taught him; sometimes sunk into the flow of a lightsaber kata; sometimes elbow-deep inside the innards of some half-wrecked piece of machinery (he was starting to dearly miss the _Falcon_, not just her pilot – the old girl would have certainly obliged). The new habit not only helped to settle his nerves and served as a good pretext to pull the occasional information and/or assessment that he shouldn't – realistically – have been able to supply from empty air; but also, at odd intervals (whenever he could get away with it without the Emperor noticing), his father initiated mental contact.

It was a rare boon when the Sithlord had the time to stay and chat (metaphorically speaking), and more or less complete situation updates could be exchanged; but even if the whole contact consisted solely of a quick lick of black flames, a fierce brush of _You safe? – Yes, you?_ expressed more in emotion than intelligible words and gone an instant later, the young rebel treasured those precious moments. He only wished his father would take the time more often, to answer his return question. As foreign as the concept obviously was to the Sithlord, there now _was_ someone interested in Lord Vader's continued safety!

* * *

If _Vader's Own_ makes a good enough backstory for canon events, up and including Episode IV (and a tiny bit beyond), it'll do for this side branch of the story, too. ;-)


	18. Team

Not quite a month after Luke's encounter with the _Lady_, a new face turned up among the shady contacts that supplied the Alliance with much-needed material.

The swaggering spacer bore such a striking resemblance to the first glimpse Luke had had of Han – in attitude and bearing that was, not actual features – that the young rebel felt immediately drawn to the tall Corellian. He had barely come within sight before he was promptly greeted by a staggering slap on the back, ending in a one-armed hug, and presented with _"warmest regards",_ sent by a _"Uncle D"._

Some cosmic power was really out to get him, the young Jedi decided, if his father had truly sent him _this._

Since they were standing in one of the main hangars, about half of Rogue Squadron had been watching the exchange, and, sure enough, Wes was already sauntering over to introduce himself.

"Old family friend, huh? Why, Commander, you never..."

With a smile that reminded Luke of that friendly Krayt dragon again, the stranger cut across the pilot's drawl with an impressive one of his own.

"Ah, wouldn't quite call me that." The Corellian cleared his throat and went on, in a scarily accurate rendition of Uncle Owen's gruff moisture farmer bark, "Now look here, young man, you won't go filling my Luke's head with your nonsense!"

General laughter broke up what could have been a tense scene.

Under the cover of the overlaying noise, the stranger leant a bit closer to Luke again and breathed, "Name's Jix, by the way."

More loudly, but still in a confidential tone, he added, "Went by the old dustball, couple of weeks ago, heard that Fett has departed towards less sun-baked parts…"

The young Jedi felt hot hope surge up.

_Leave Fett to me – the man has his uses. Without him, Jabba's defenses should not form much of an obstacle,_ his father had told him shortly before Luke's departure.

The budding rescue plans came to a screeching halt though, when young rebel heard someone – _Wedge, possibly?_ – asking him about "this Uncle Dee."

For a second, Luke's mind went fatally blank before a spark of inspiration hit him.

"Ah, I was told he was a navigator on a spice freighter, once. These days, however … I guess he's a lot higher up the food chain, now?" he finished lamely.

"One could say that," Jix added with a smirk that would have done _a whole_ _brood_ of dragons proud, "but in any case, he's not really _Luke_'s uncle, you see? He's mine. I adopted him."

Somewhat later that evening, the Corellian had allowed the entirety of Rogue Squadron to invite him on a drink _(one each!)_ and was thereby enticed to tell the story of how one went about to adopt an uncle. Nursing his own cup cautiously, Luke wondered how much of that tall tale about impostors engaged by rival factions, collapsing buildings, selfless rescues and deals brokered on behalf of a native population caught in the crossfire, was the truth. He was afraid the answer might be: all the relevant parts.

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Leia despised Jix at first sight. The tall Corellian rubbed her all the wrong ways, with his irreverent disregard for conventions and shamelessly flirtatious air.

Luke was sure, his sister saw the same resemblance he had; and that reminder was way too close and too soon.

The young Jedi had just searched out Jix, to warn the spacer cum agent away from the former princess before Chewie returned and took matters into his own (inhumanly strong and rather protective) hands, when he found that Zev had beaten him to it.

More or less literally. The two (_former?)_ Imperials had each other in some sort of upright grappling hold, each with a forearm pressed against the other man's throat; they weren't shouting at each other – hardly necessary, with their noses all but touching – but exchanging sharp words in vicious hisses.

Luke cleared his throat, cautiously. "Is it a bad time?"

"No," Zev bit out, "we've just reached an understanding."

With a final glare at the Corellian, the lieutenant stalked away, and the spacer brushed himself off with exaggerated care.

"Pup has teeth, I'll give him that," Jix commented with a grin. "Think he's getting into the business of adoption, too: caught himself a baby sister, I'd say."

Lord Vader's agent laughed uproariously, treating the young Jedi to another staggering slap on the back, which conveniently provided Luke with an easy excuse for his choking on air.

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Han's rescue went off comparatively well.

_Ask Madine, _Zev had suggested, _he won't – _can't _– give you any forces for such a peripheral mission, but that's straight-out commando work. Ask him for **advice**._

_We **must** try to talk to Jabba, first,_ had been Leia's contribution_ – and if the initial attempt fails, we'll have someone on the inside, already._

C3-PO (accompanied by an astromech flat-out refusing to stay put, to the point where Luke doubted that bolting him to the floor of a capital ship would have kept him away – R2 had a way with those, after all) was to deliver the first round of talking; with Leia and Chewie acting as Plan B, for a somewhat more aggressive sort of negotiation.

Jix had somehow invited himself along, too – and it was appallingly easy for a pair of down-their-luck Imperial deserters looking for work as guns-for-hire to gain access into Jabba's guard force.

Luke, in full Jedi regalia, had been supposed to be the coup de grâce – and in a way, he was. The rancor on a rampage hadn't been part of the plan, though; the young Jedi still wasn't sure who exactly had collapsed half of the Hutt's throne room into the level underneath, allowing the giant, half-starved predator to scramble up the rubble slope, but after that...

Well, Luke had been too busy getting his own people clear to do anything about it and Hutts were on the agile side for slugs but still slugs. And none of the other potential prey were anywhere near a ton and a half of edible (from a rancor's perspective) mass.

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Han was gracious enough in thanking anyone involved in his rescue; but with him and Jix being who and what they were, the two Corellians naturally fell into the enmity expected of a pair of tomcats.

Then, one evening, each of them got drunk independently and instigated an epic barfight; somewhere in-between the punches traded, they managed to exchange the information that they had both been drummed out of the Imperial military for failing to murder innocents.

They made a scarily good team, afterwards.

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Their teamwork soon had to withstand its trial by fire: a highly placed representative of Xizor Transport Systems had been intimating that the alien prince, disenchanted by Imperial xenophobia, would be amendable to a closer – if unofficial – cooperation between his shipping corporation and the Alliance. Bearing the carefully assembled hitlist in mind, Luke bit his tongue and did not protest when High Command decided to make use of the unexpected windfall.

Given the delicate nature of the first contact, the prince was to be met by a princess. A bodyguard was certainly fine but would have to wait at a respectable distance while the two royals conversed over an exquisite dinner. There was no question that Han would volunteer for said guard's role (with Chewie waiting at the ship, for additional backup) and as much as the former smuggler hated anything stiff-collared, even Jix had to admit (if in a sufficiently snarky tone) that the other Corellian cleaned up nicely.

Luke really could have done without his father's offhand warning about Falleen pheromone secretion, though, when the young Jedi gave an update on the situation in the next mental contact – or rather, the warning was good, but it could have come _before_ Leia and her entourage had left for the initial meeting!

A mad scramble to relay that particular tidbit of xenobiology to the Alliance envoys just barely managed to get Han out alive of his far too close-up-and-personal encounter with Xizor's not-entirely-human bodyguard, by alerting his Wookiee copilot in time to stage a rescue. By then, however, Leia had already left – voluntarily by all accounts – with the Falleen crime lord.

Apparently, Xizor had concluded that any young female as close to Luke as the Alderaani princess was, had to be his love interest; and (much like Vader had done before him) the Black Sun leader had decided to get at the young Jedi through Leia. Taking the young woman to his palace would serve to lure Lord Vader's son into the Sarlacc pit of Imperial Center – and with that into the hands of either a vengeful Falleen or the Emperor, even Luke's father couldn't be certain which.

Good thing, then, that Luke was _not _coming alone. Coruscant wasn't a destination any substantial Alliance force could have reached, but a small freighter, especially one whose pilot had the will and the skill to weave past orbital defenses, Imperial Navy and general traffic, hugging every sensor shadow or cutting across lanes with wild abandon, whatever it took to put the _Falcon_ down unmolested and in record time, that was another story. While Han put every trick in the book – and a few invented extra for the occasion – to good use, Jix, who knew sources for virtually anything, found them a more or less accurate plan of the building. Slipping in via the sewers was not Luke's idea of a good time, but Chewie's climbing skills and sheer strength – and Zev's slicing talent ("ahem, _decryption_, picked up in Communications") – took them up to at least mid-level, before anyone took notice of the intruders.

Wave upon wave of security forces made any further progress sluggish and exhausting work, however. The young Jedi was deeply grateful for his recent block-and-parry remedial training; though the results of Han and Jix fighting back-to-back, with Zev and Chewie providing covering fire, were a sight to behold, too.

Quite possibly, it was _that sight_ which shook Leia out of her biochemically induced adoration, when Xizor thought it opportune to finally confront the uninvited guests with his latest conquest held familiarly in his arms. Or maybe it had been Han's shout of "Hey, Your Worshipfulness, aren't you afraid to get your hands dirty?!"

In any case, the Alderaani princess stiffened slightly, turned her back on them – and brought her knee up with such force and precision as to cause a collective male wince; using the doubled-up crime lord as a springboard, she next vaulted over a balustrade and jumped straight into Chewie's widely outstretched arms.

"More reach," Luke could have sworn he could hear his smuggler friend grumble, despite everything else going on, "not fair."

Given the – _far too close!_ – nearby presence of the Emperor, the young Jedi had such a firm grip on his emotions in his desperate attempt to keep himself hidden in the Force, that he would have settled for getting Leia out (mostly _unharmed but for her pride_, to use her own words), regardless of what would become of the Falleen prince.

Han, Chewie, Jix and Zev in combination, however, were determined to follow a more decisive course. The Wookiee had called the tactic: _a tree is felled close to the roots_, and in a Coruscanti skyscraper, the garbage chutes went way, way down. Pushing explosives down the chutes was apparently an effective way of _'felling the tree'_. The tricky part was to jump off before the whole thing finished falling.

To find the _Lady's_ immense blue-grey underbelly suddenly looming above him on the way out, like a misplaced piece of sky solidified by a malevolent deity, was a déjà-vu experience Luke could have lived without. That the gigantic warship completely ignored the fleeing rebels, in favor of reducing Xizor's skyhook and accompanying starfighters to glittering shooting stars, was a small comfort, though.

* * *

A/N: I have nothing in particular against Lando Calrissian – but he's no favorite of mine, either. In the light of the somewhat changed clique around Luke in this AU, his presence in certain scenes would have been simply superfluous. No offense.


	19. Reinforcements

Sorry for the delay, folks. Half of the workforce is on summer vacations, but half of the workload did not leave with them. And because _Murphy_ is a patient and reliable sort, he waited until everyone needed to resolve that particular crisis quickly and efficiently was out of reach before he stacked two minor and one major catastrophe right on top of each other. Chapter is dedicated to the lone hero who helped me salvage the situation.

* * *

Jix might have been the first – and certainly the most flamboyant – but he was far from the last former Imperial soldier Luke's father sent his way.

Not that _'send'_ was to be taken literal, in most cases, but with some dogged perseverance the young Jedi had won the concession that the sudden influx of Imperial defectors the Alliance saw for the next several months, had started because his father had thought, rather strongly, at certain people_: you could serve the galaxy better, elsewhere,_ and then things had snowballed from there.

After all, it had been a bit peculiar that so many people whose careers had started before or in the early days of the Empire would suddenly step back (metaphorically speaking), take a long, hard look beyond the expectations of old habit and realize that Palpatine's creation had failed spectacularly to deliver on the ideals of the _New Order_ it had been founded on. With the interlocking networks of _went-to-the-Academy-together_, _survived-on-this-or-that-backwater-station-together_ and especially _went-through-some-hellish-mission-together_ that years and years of service had grown over time, the chilling insight had spread far beyond its starting point without further assistance; consequently, where previously the shared factor among Imperial defectors had been conviction, with a mixed bag of skills and experience to support it, now it was raining expertise.

Expertise, the odd piece of hardware and plenty of up-to-date information that ran the gamut from the curious but not immediately useful to the tactically advantageous to the plain scary.

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Luke wasn't quite sure what to make of the gift as such – and it _was_ a gift, for all that it helped his father's stratagems, too, another layer of protection for his family and perhaps as subconsciously created as the firewalls before it – slavery was still too close on Tatooine that he'd ever be comfortable with the thought of using people as gifts but on the other hand there was no denying that the Alliance could use the newcomers.

In the details, however, he mostly followed his compatriots' assessments, if not always for the same reasons.

_Plain scary_ might mean for numerous rebels that the new face turning up in the mess might have seen Hoth from the opposite position (it had not really helped matters that one of the first of those had set the tone before the initial round of questions by declaring, blunt as a gaffi stick to the head: _"I was _Thunder Two_, on Hoth – and I see no reason to be ashamed of that. And Veers was a damn good general, best I ever had! But the New Order he – and I – were fighting for has become a sham of horrible proportions. That's why I'm here.")_

For the young Jedi, on the other hand, the opportunity to get independent news about his father's fleet had outweighed all other considerations until the first time he had come face-to-face with someone had come (more or less) straight from the _Lady_ ([1]). Luke had been watching Madine's interview with a Colonel Covell to ascertain its truth content, together with Zev to provide the most current "Imperial" view for accuracy, and crossed way with Covell while each was on the way back to their respective quarters.

As soon as the two young men came into view, the colonel's eyes went wide. Covell was fast to pretend that it was Zev's presence – "I heard you were dead, boy" – he had reacted to, but unless the man suffered from a severe case of strabismus, he had been shocked by the sight of the young Jedi, not the fellow ex-Imperial.

Quickly deciding that he was better off to clear things up in person, Luke had followed the younger Veers when the latter went to catch up with the colonel – and Covell had been distinctly unsurprised by the extra guest. He also took the revelation that rebel legend (and Imperial boogey man) Luke Skywalker and Lord Vader's son were indeed one and the same, remarkably well – it barely took him two seconds to pick his jaw off the floor after the initial introduction.

After listening to the following explanation in stony silence – Luke kept to the very basics, with a slight emphasis on the fact that some unnamed parties had pitted father and son against each other without their knowledge – the colonel had given the young Jedi a long, thoughtful look.

"Divide and conquer – given his track record and yours, I can see why keeping the two of you apart – or at each other's throat, ideally – would make things more manageable, for some people," was his concise comment.

That selfsame eye for tactical advantages made it unnecessarily hard, though – in Luke's opinion – to convince the older man that the young Jedi's idea of keeping his secret safe was _trust_. When forcefully told to come up with something better, Zev had cut in, with a brusque directness strongly reminiscent of his sire, and pointed out that trust was perfectly sufficient: Covell would have hardly made it off the _Lady_ without Lord Vader's consent and if the latter had let him get away with the potential means to destroy his family, the colonel had already _passed one hell of a test!_

Luke rather thought that sic'ing the two ex-Imperials in front of him at the next recruit fresh off the_ Lady_ was a great plan.

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A generally well-received piece of intel was the detailed map of the current positions of Lord Vader's swarm of probe droids.

Rogue Squadron gleefully went a-hunting. The first time, a dozen probes in one particular sector went down almost simultaneously, their last observation the energy signature of a small fightercraft, the nearest garrison scrambled their forces to investigate. While they were away, the Alliance bombed a research installation for walker prototypes at their leisure.

Same game for the second time. Wes was boasting for days that you could see the blaze of that planetary fuel reservoir, he'd ignited by a rather trickily placed missile hit, from high orbit.

The third time, the nearest fleet went into full alarm instead and sent only a single scout. When the Alliance fighters jumped into the system and were met with by a fully assembled, trigger-happy Imperial force, they turned tail and ran immediately.

For the fourth and fifth time, something similar happened – especially memorably, in Luke's opinion, was the fifth, seeing how he had barely slipped back into real space before his father's voice had sounded in his mind and told him to **_Run_**; the young Jedi had pulled up reflexively, shouting at his squad mates to do the same and the Rogues had barely managed to reverse their flight vectors before Death Squadron had swept out of the mass shadow of the outer gas giants, all guns blazing.

Luke's reputation for Jedi premonitions had grown to sky-high proportions after that, but for the sixth and seventh time, the Alliance didn't even bother with a mock attack.

Still, almost five dozen systems known to be clear of probe droids wasn't a bad result.

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It was only the sheer scarcity of inside information about Death Squadron that had anyone take note of the fact that Adm. Piett had apparently acquired a two-part shadow recently, in the shape of a pair of exceptionally tall and broad-shouldered stormtroopers following him everywhere; their size and bulky armor only serving to emphasize the admiral's unassuming stature. Scuttlebutt couldn't make up its mind if they were meant to serve as bodyguards or keep the short man from running, or both.

Luke took the news with some bemusement – and then could only admire the way Piett had set up the visual cues to get dismissed as a negligible threat. Covell didn't like Navy as a principle, but also everyone else who'd confirmed the story had used the same tone of mixed pity and disdain when mentioning the quiet admiral.

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Defectors bringing in substantial gifts of hardware were few and far between, seeing how that usually entailed the disappearance of more than a single person and such incidents were both hard to orchestrate and tended to trigger harsh retaliations from the remaining Imperials in the area.

Disappearing assets were not just the province of defectors and other insurgents, though:

Five months after the fateful near-collision, the Bothan spy network was starting to make noises about something big – _really big!_ – being in the works. Five months and a week and a former Imperial logistics expert brought the news about huge amounts of material being diverted from various resources without a clear destination. When asked to define '_huge'_, the answer had been: _well, either the _Executor_ class is going into mass-production or someone's aiming even bigger than the Death Star._

Luke was undoubtedly the only one to take _this_ piece of news with relief instead of alarm. Finally, the charade was all but over.

* * *

[1] Colonel Covell had joined Alliance via Opari, but before that he had served with Death Squadron (had served with Veers on Hoth, some whispered, and that rumor had sent shivers down people's spines. True to expectations, Covell had needed less than two months before he had a substantial portion of the Oparian rebels (previously thriving under the lax control of a dispirited commander of the Imperial garrison) pinned down and a full squadron of AT-AT walkers closing in on them. Contrary to all expectations, the colonel had moved only three of those walkers into immediate firing range – and surrendered from this position of power, pledging himself and the crews and commanders of said three AT-ATs to the Alliance's cause before he'd set off the self-destruct in his walkers, crippling all nearby Imperial communications via an unfortunate feedback loop. The Oparians weren't quite certain if they believed their luck and had pushed the unnerving gain at the main Alliance Fleet as quickly as possible; there, such a rare (previously unimaginable) source of inside information about the Empire's Finest was snatched up with all alacrity.

* * *

Bit of a filler and I'm not entirely happy with it, but I needed to move certain pieces into place. And now I can concentrate what little time I find on the big finale…

(Don't expect it for next week, though)


	20. Approach

Once that the second Death Star's existence, state of (still-under-)construction and current position had been officially corroborated, the Alliance resolutely went to plan its permanent decommission:

_One of the recent defectors had conveniently acquired them a Lambda shuttle – one that the Empire didn't know it was missing, the hard-bitten woman was swearing up, down and sideways, one of the rare perks of getting relegated to clerical drudge work. The shuttle plus some hopefully still valid Imperial identification codes would be used land a strike team on the Forest Moon of Endor, with the mission to deactivate the deflector shield projected from said moon which kept the barely more than half-formed hulk of the Death Star__ impervious to almost all attacks. _

_Disguised as a resupply run for the shield generator station, the shuttle would feign a technical failure in the final descent and drop off the team without reaching the official landing platform. From there on, the strike team would approach one of the peripheral bunkers protecting the huge generator station, gain entry by some measure and use the internal systems to hack into the generator control to collapse the shield, in time for the combined Alliance fleet to destroy the Death Star before further Imperial reinforcements could arrive._

_The primary way into the bunker was to be: walk up to the front door and ask them to open it – a plan Han had come up with, shortly after remarking mockingly that some of the ex-Imperials were going to be absolutely useless for covert work: you could have dropped them naked in the middle of the Dune Sea and the first stormtrooper to happen on them would still salute, the uniform so ingrained into their bearing that it didn't actually have _to be there_ to be visible. The outrageous suggestion had caused some consternation, but on second thought, it was grudgingly accepted that, these days, the Alliance had the knowledge and the uniforms to demand access convincingly. (Jix thought it hilarious that a few of the aforementioned ex-Imperials had been the first to recognize the merits of the plan; both spacers were inordinately pleased with someone's half snide, half self-ironic comment of: _Trust a Corellian to play a weakness for a strength!)

_Plan B was to capture one of the patrolling AT-STs on the way and knock a little bit more forcefully, if Plan A didn't yield immediate success. Plan C and D were more or less subtle means into the bunker while Plan E was a rather desperate 'stir up the locals' (no one felt quite comfortable with recruiting stone-age level carnivores)._

To be precise, that had been the plan before the urgent news had arrived that the Emperor himself was inspecting the construction site in a week's time.

It still _was_ the plan, but the detailed preparations had been… _rushed_.

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Luke would have been a logical choice to lead the fighter wings attacking the second Death Star; however, both the Force and his father's last, terse mental message had told the young Jedi that he had to get into the Endor system earlier than the main fleet.

When he'd mentioned the first one aloud, Alliance High Command had reluctantly offered him a place in the strike team – and with that five other volunteers had taken their places, too. There had been several voices protesting Leia's involvement, but lately the former princess had kept Han within sight with grim determination and a grimly determined Leia was a force even High Command had learned not to engage unnecessarily.

The rest of the two dozen or so commandoes were a mixed lot, part old rebels, part recent recruits. The sheer number of the latter had initially caused more than the usual strain on the atmosphere while the new soldiers slowly integrated, but time and success (and especially several close calls during the withdrawal from Elrood and the following battles in the Airam Sector) had served to prove that the newcomers knew what they were doing and meant what they said (and quietened the reverse misgivings about the long-time rebels' rather loose interpretation of discipline, by demonstrating that a glib tone didn't mean the owner couldn't shut up and follow orders quick and decisively if necessary).

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Reverting to real space in the Endor system, to find the half-completed Death Star surrounded by a small group of stardestroyers dwarfed by the skeletal construct, was the expected thing; for Luke, at least, it was equally unsurprising when one of the latter resolved into a blue-grey spearhead that stood out even against the moon-sized station. What made the young Jedi swallow heavily, however, was the conflagration raging at what felt like touching distance – his father hadn't consciously flared his Force presence like that since … well, his dramatic entry on _Bespin_.

"Vader's here," Luke said, all but involuntarily.

All around the young Jedi, alarmed looks were exchanged; Han reacted with a (predictable) piece of pep talk, Chewie barked something worried-sounding and then some Imperial system control officer broke the spell by announcing, "We have you on our screen now. Please identify."

Shaking off the disconcertion with a physical jolt, Zev leaned forward and matched the dutiful but bored air, tone for tone. "Shuttle Tydirium requesting deactivation of the deflector shield."

A clearance code was requested and sent over, and while it was processed, there was a perfunctory question about the shuttle's cargo and destination.

Everything checked out and the shuttle continued on its course towards the heavily forested moon. Han delivered a credible performance as _'pilot trying not to panic while his engines sudden give out on him'_ and cut off any further communications shortly before dropping the ship almost perpendicularly but with miraculous control into a small clearing between the towering evergreens.

Jix credited the quality of the act to plenty of practice with the real thing, and it didn't help matters when Chewie made a huffing noise that sounded suspiciously like agreement. Leia cut them both off with a snapped order to get ready to move out.

She had been tense since entering the system, and while Luke had so far ascribed her bad temper to the sight of another _Death Star_, given her traumatic experiences with the previous one, now he was starting to wonder if his sister wasn't subconsciously picking up on the dark flames drawing nearer.

The thought made his decision, to separate from the rest of the team as soon as possible, even easier to follow through with.

A few hours march away from the shuttle, a patrol on speeder bikes obligingly provided him with the means. As soon as the bikes were secured, the young Jedi pulled Major Derlin, the commandoes' unit commander and Leia aside – _but who was he kidding, the rest of the gang was also listening in, more or less discreetly_.

"Vader is here... now, on this moon," Luke told them quickly, forestalling any questions about how he knew that by adding, "I felt his presence. And he can feel when I'm near. That's why I have to go. As long as I stay, I'm endangering the group and our mission here."

No one was happy, _no surprise there_, but in the end Luke got his will, even if it had taken a few quiet words in Jix's ear to get rid of the persistent Corellian.

"I need you to look out for my sister if I don't make it back," had left the tall agent pale and wide-eyed, but fiercely determined to do his job.

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Finding the official landing platform was easy, even when using a rather circuitous approach (both to habitually obscure the position of the rest of the team and buy them some further time), and getting himself captured produced no more than a vague feeling of déjà-vu. The commander executing the actual arrest, the young Jedi was practically at home with – the black-clad officer wordlessly held out his hand, Luke reluctantly slapped his lightsaber into it and that was that. _One day I really ought to find out the man's name, if we keep meeting like that... _

The pair of red-armored guards flanking his father's imposing form were another story, though. Madine's insistence for Luke to scan each and every one of the new defectors for sincerity had taught the young Jedi very rapidly to recognize if someone had spent substantial amounts of time with his father, whose pervasive presence left distinct traces, a scent of smoke lingering in the wake of the firestorm, metaphorically speaking.

These Red Guards, on the other hand, had a touch of Darkness on them that wasn't a bittersweet reminder of his father's fiery presence, at all. To stretch the simile to the breaking point: seen through the Force, these men were sticky with the oily soot of a smoldering fire that slowly and insidiously suffocated every life in its vicinity in poisonous clouds.

* * *

I'm not an Ewok fan. First I thought them somewhat ridiculous and then I came across: _Admiral Piett and the Great Ewok Adventure_ by _Monika E. Simon_ (look it up, if you haven't read that one, yet, it's GREAT! But not for the faint of stomach, occasionally…).


	21. Opening

_Disclaimer: Every line you recognize isn't mine, obviously._

* * *

The commander relinquished his prisoner and the confiscated weapon without any sign of recognition that this was anything else but an ordinary captured rebel.

Lord Vader turned the slim silver hilt over in his hands, testing its balance, apparently _– too slender for the black-gauntleted hands, really, but Luke couldn't help it if he came after _his mother_'s stature!_

"I see you have constructed a new lightsaber," the Sithlord commented idly, igniting the blade and examining that, too, critically.

"Your skills are complete. Indeed, you are powerful, as the Emperor has foreseen."

The young Jedi breathed an internal sigh of relief. If things were _as the Emperor has foreseen_, then nothing unexpected had come up, in the meantime.

To keep up appearances, Luke spent the next several minutes pleading with his father to turn his back on the Dark Side, to no avail, ultimately, but the black flames had roiled impressively before getting pulled back under tight control.

In the end, Lord Vader cut short the argument with a final, "The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force. He is your master now."

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The shuttle ride up to the battle station passed in uneasy silence, with Lord Vader retreating into the cockpit, leaving the young rebel in the stonily unspeaking company of the Red Guards – who promptly cuffed him to one of the seats. Luke made sure to layer hurt rejection right on top of his surface feelings.

Back on solid ground, the Sithlord wordlessly took the lead, forcing the young Jedi into a half-jog to keep up – or risk _encouragement_ by the force pikes raised threateningly by the guards herding him from behind. Endless, brightly lit, grey corridors finally brought them to a gantry crossing a circular shaft that seemed to go down infinitely, all the way down to the Death Star's core – _or, given the thing's state of semi-construction, perhaps there literally _was_ no bottom, just as there wasn't if one dropped through the atmosphere of a gas giant …. _

Shoving down the misgivings summoned by the memory of getting chased onto another gantry, Luke followed his father into the turbolift installed in the center of the shaft. Counting time while they sped towards their destination, the young pilot estimated them to have risen even beyond the surface of the gigantic construct – and the first look beyond the opening door confirmed that. Simple geometry drew any arrival's eye immediately towards the raised platform in front of them and the seated form at its back; but behind that, a large circular window offered an unobstructed view of the surrounding stars.

Perhaps to further allow an unimpeded contemplation of the stars, the lights in this part of the Death Star were kept to a bare minimum, shrouding the throne and its occupant in ominous shadows. As far as the young Jedi was concerned, the physical darkness was entirely superfluous, though: it was hard enough to reconcile the bright sparks of starlight blinking through space with the bottomless pool of darkness pressing against his Force perceptions as he slowly climbed the stairs in his father's wake. He barely noticed the Red Guards fanning out behind him, to join another six of them, spread out along the walls of the chamber.

The Emperor had his back on the main room, only turning towards the newcomers a deliberate second after they had reached the top of the stairs. In another deliberate action, Luke drew on the Light Side to keep the black tendrils of anger and despair that tried to creep up on him at bay.

_Family. Friends. Together. Protection_ singed away the encroaching darkness.

If the Emperor took any notice of the act, it didn't show. He sounded almost amiable, like the gracious host of some official function, when he said, "Welcome, young Skywalker. I have been expecting you."

Deeply shadowed eyes roamed over the young man before him before the ancient ruler continued, all but admonishingly, "You no longer need those."

A minimal motion of the pale, gnarled hand and the binders encircling Luke's wrists fell away. The young rebel barely kept himself from rubbing his wrists, not because the shackles had hurt him but in an instinctive urge to scrub away the tainted touch of the Force. Looking down at the clatter of metal on metal gave Luke the moment he needed to compose himself. He looked back up in time to see the amiable air drop in favor of sharp command.

"Guards, leave us!" the old man gestured dismissively and the red-cloaked men turned silently and filed towards the exit.

When the pair that had previously flanked the throne put their first measured step atop the staircase, the young Jedi felt the world drop out under him. From one moment to the next, the Force was… _gone!_

Fighting for physical balance in the first shock, Luke jumped when a black gauntlet reached for his arm, the oddity of his father's corporeal touch without the accompanying Force presence distracting him for a second longer – though, with the black bulk of armor and cloak filling his field of vision, he wouldn't have seen the attack coming, anyway.

There was a horrible crackle, combined with the hiss of delicate systems burning out, when a quartet of force pikes connected with Lord Vader's back and neck. The towering Sithlord went down on all fours, his sheer weight pulling the smaller rebel down with him, even while Luke tried to break his father's fall.

Tendrils of excess energy were starting to arc down the metal prosthetics and into the young Jedi's body when strong hands grabbed Luke and pulled him away, twisting his arms behind him brutally when the young rebel tried to resist.

He didn't try for long. Once it had registered in his half-panicked mind that, _yes, his father was hurting badly but still keeping himself from falling flat on his face, and the ventilator had obviously taken damage in the discharge but was still wheezing more or less regularly_, the other half took over and remembered previous lessons. Without knowing what was going on, Luke couldn't change the situation for the better and so he let himself go limp, trying to project _small, helpless – harmless! _– by body language for all he was worth.

The Red Guard behind him quickly dragged him back down to the foot of the stairs and forced the young Jedi to his knees, while another pair of his compatriots hurried to reinforce the ones subduing Vader and dragged his weakly struggling form also down the stairs. They dropped the Sithlord on all fours on the other side of the stairwell, leaving some three meters' distance separating father and son.

Now that he could see into the space beneath the raised dais again, Luke could easily spot the hidden entries that had opened in the walls of the throne room on either side, and the pair of dark-clad servants that had used the diversion of the marching Guards and each carried in a strange construct, some sort of frame with a gold-brown lizard clinging to it.

"I am a bit of a collector of curio connected to the Force – an old man's idiosyncrasy, if you will." The amiable tone was back, in full force, and when the young rebel looked up, he saw that the Emperor had risen from his throne and walked to the top of the staircase, smiling down with a hideous caricature of benevolence on his ruined features.

At the sight of Luke's revulsion, the smile widened. "These delightful creatures are my newest acquisition: Ysalamiri they are called, I believe, tree-dwelling reptilians native to the planet Myrkr; in response to predation by a local canine, the Force-sensitive vornskrs, they have evolved a most peculiar ability: to repel the Force by creating a Force-neutral bubble around themselves."

A sharp gesture, and the lizards on their frames were carried past the two captives and placed next to the walkway leading towards the turbolift. Some tension receded from the old man's posture and the smile looked marginally more natural.

_Something between five and ten meters effective radius, then. Perhaps a little more where the fields overlap… _Further thoughts in that direction were cut short when the Emperor continued his speech.

"Did you truly think I did not know about your little scheme?" The cowled head was shaken in disappointment and the young Jedi made a futile grab for the Force when icy fear was starting to reach for him. He settled for desert-bred tenacity in the face of adversity, instead.

"Your overconfidence is your weakness," the young rebel threw back challengingly.

"Your faith in your allies is yours." The Emperor gave back, coldly.

Another sharp gesture had one of the servants scramble towards a communications station beside the throne. "Open a channel to the _Executor_."

Luke's eyes flickered, involuntarily, towards the distant spearhead and the ancient Sith smirked viciously.

"Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design," he all but purred.

A large display sprang to life, showing the interior of the _Lady_'s Bridge, as if they were talking on an internal com-system, not an external one.

"And now, young Skywalker, you will witness the true power of the Dark Side, " the Emperor continued, "take note of those stormtroopers at the edge of the display – do you see them, boy?!"

The young Jedi nodded cautiously. "Yes."

"Now observe those two simple soldiers …" the old man's look of intense concentration wavered for a moment before the ruined features twisted into another smirk. "Ah, the elusive General Veers – how convenient. He will perform a final service to the Empire, then, before he permanently disappears into obscurity."

A wave of the gnarled hand and a pair of E-11s were raised jerkily.

"Admiral Piett is no longer in command of this ship," the Emperor said – and so did the two armored men behind the admiral, over a thousand kilometers away. The helmet distortion added a flat metallic timbre to the additional voices, but otherwise the two men spoke not only in complete unison with the ancient ruler of the galaxy, but with exactly the same cadence and inflection, copying every little detail of the old Nubian's accent. It was a bizarre experience to listen to.

"He is a traitor to the Empire and will answer for his deeds," the trifold speech continued. "Surrender yourself, rebel scum."

Shock was writ large across the faces of the bridge crew, including the admiral who had half turned before he caught sight of the weapons aimed at him and froze.

Watching the scene with an intensity not even the Emperor could find fault with, Luke saw the pair of blaster rifles tremble as their wielders fought against the foreign will controlling them but the muzzles never left the admiral's center mass.

Smug triumph spread across the ancient Sith's face – and then a deafening, inhuman screech made any further words impossible.

On the distant Bridge of the SSD _Executor,_ people were flung violently sidewise, half a second before the transmission went dead; Luke had no idea what the _Lady_ had done exactly, but a quick look through the window showed several explosions billowing out from the gigantic command tower. The titanic ship started to roll – and the young rebel's stomach dropped.

Apparently, the _Lady_ had sacrificed too much in her desperation to keep her admiral alive: nothing as large could be rolled in a controlled fashion and so it was a tell-tale sign of crippling injury if a capital ship started to spin around its long axis.

Quickly recovering from the initial surprise, the Emperor started to laugh, a ghastly cackling sound of cruel mirth.

Cut off from the soothing influence of the Force, the malicious glee was the final straw. Luke simply reacted. He surged forward – and the elite soldier behind him whipped the tip of the force pike across the young rebel's back before he could get out of reach. The force of impact alone would have sent Luke stumbling; the power sizzling along every nerve ending in his body, on the other hand, had him screaming on the floor.

The Red Guard held contact for a few endless seconds, then reached down to drag the convulsing body back towards his previous position. Gasping for breath, the young Jedi was peripherally aware of a nearby, unstopping crackle of energy, that was the rest of the Guards forcing his father back to his previous position, too.

Unthinkingly, Luke tried to turn and the man above him brought the pike down again. The world turned white-hot agony.


	22. Confrontation

Cold.

_Metal floor. _

A droning buzz in his ears, just barely audible above the all-pervasive pain.

_Lightsaber!_

The familiar hum of his own weapon was incongruous enough to summon the strength to blink his eyes open. Atop the stairwell – which seemed lightyears away, from Luke's current point of view – the Emperor was toying with the green-bladed weapon.

Evidently aware that the young rebel had reached consciousness again, the ancient Sith commented nonchalantly, "Ah, yes, a Jedi's weapon. Much like your father's."

A contemptuous side-glance at the motionless black figure at the bottom of the stairs – _Slumped. Limp. Unconscious._ _Not dead, not dead, not dead! _– and the old man went on,"But by now you must know your father can never be turned from the dark side. And so will it be with you."

Clenching his teeth, the young rebel levered himself back to his hands and knees. "You're wrong. Soon I'll be dead...and you with me."

The Emperor shook his head again, a teacher correcting a disappointingly dim-witted pupil. "Your friends up there on the Sanctuary Moon are walking into a trap – an entire legion of my best troops awaits them. I'm afraid the deflector shield will be quite operational when the rest of your friends arrive. From here you will witness the final destruction of the Alliance, and the end of your insignificant Rebellion."

With a negligent air, the old man deactivated the lightsaber and dropped it onto the nearby balustrade. Luke couldn't help but follow the move with his eyes, covetously.

The ancient Sith smiled. "You want this, don't you? The hate is swelling in you now. With each passing moment, you make yourself more my servant."

"No!" The denial was as fierce as it was automatic – and just as instantly dismissed.

"It is unavoidable. It is your destiny. You, like your father, are now mine!"

Further denials piled up behind the young rebel's lips and went unvoiced, since the Alliance Fleet chose that very moment to jump into the system. A tactical hologram flared to life in one of the communications consoles.

A large fleet of stardestroyers – easily five times as many as Luke had seen on his initial approach, if not more – were moving into attack positions (minus the _Lady_ which was slowly tumbling out of formation). Nonetheless, for now it was only the fighter contingent of each destroyer that was engaging the Alliance ships, not the capital warships themselves.

"As you can see, my young apprentice," the Emperor purred, "your friends have failed. Now witness the firepower of this fully armed and operational battle station."

Even though he'd been aware of that possibility beforehand, pure gut reaction jerked the young rebel upright (if still on his knees) at the news. The Red Guard behind him warningly placed his pike across his captive's shoulder – with the angle just a little higher, the shaft would stretch across the young man's throat in a brutal chokehold; a little lower and the vibro-edged power tip would touch most of Luke's chest.

The young Jedi kept himself very, very still.

He even managed to keep his frozen posture when the Emperor turned towards the communications console and coldly gave the order, "Fire at will, Commander."

Something green flashed at the edge of vision and on the tactical display a large Alliance ship silently blinked out of existence. Trapped in-system by numerous Interdictors, the rebels hurried to close the distance to the Imperial fleet, no doubts preferring to try their luck with the conventional warships while hoping to block the lines of fire of the superlaser with friendly targets.

Forced into the role of a distant spectator, the next minutes were the longest in Luke's life. In the abstraction of the holo-display, the swirling lights seemed almost ethereally beautiful – swarms of small fighter craft flitted around their more ponderous larger cousins, while the latter weaved and whirled around each other in their own three-dimensional dance. But abstraction didn't help: the young fighter pilot could make out his fellow Rogues by their convoluted flight patterns and he was all but sure that the slightly larger ship wheeling and twisting at the front of the fighters was the _Falcon_. And with one set of individuals identified, there was no escaping the fact that _each and every one of the sparks extinguished was a ship was dying – people dying! _

Trying to ignore the Emperor's taunting commentary to the lives lost behind the abstract blips of light, as what should have been one of the most bloodless battles in galactic history, if everything had gone according to plan, steadily turned into a massacre, Luke kept one eye on the limp body a few steps to his right. As if to further crush his hopes, though, one of his side-glances showed a sight through a peripheral inset of transparisteel that would add another giant notch to the already steep tally: slowly but surely, the combined gravity of moon and battlestation had pulled the crippled dreadnought in and now she was about to belly-flop into the distant horizon of the Northern hemisphere of the Death Star. As he watched, even the rebel ships hounding the_ Lady_ broke away, unwilling to get crushed between the converging deflector shields.

Luke could only guess – and have his assumptions substantiated, much later – what exactly happened next[1]. In a more immediate sense, from one moment to the next, the whole construct supporting the throne room shook with an impact shock that sent people stumbling – including, unfortunately, a young rebel lurching into the force pike in front of his chest – and threw any loose items, plus a few none too tightly attached decorations, across the floor.

The sight of the Emperor jerking back in visible fear as green death filled the entire space of his observation window, and almost, _almost_ taking a tumble down the stairs, was very nearly worth the additional jolt, Luke thought. It was the sheer size that accounted for most of the shock effect, presumably: as a fighter pilot, the young Jedi was uncomfortably familiar with the fact that a capital ship's turbolaser blasts could be thicker than his own X-wing in diameter – and the _Lady Ex_ was immense even for a capital ship – and the same was true for his father. The genteel senator turned Sith cum galactic ruler, on the other hand, had likely never gone close up and personal with that much firepower.

Drunk on his body's own opioids, as it tried to battle the overwhelming pain by releasing endorphins, Luke slurred, "You have no idea for how long she wanted to do that."

The sound of someone else mocking _him_, for a change, seemed to shake the old man out of his fright.

"So your sister is in the thick of it, too," he snapped, "how predictable."

The young rebel was awfully close to laughing aloud at the misunderstanding, before the deeper meaning of _'your sister'_ registered. This time it was plain shock that loosened his tongue.

"You know?" he whispered hoarsely.

"Of course, I know," the ancient ruler sneered. "It was obvious, for anyone who'd known the Naberrie chit since she was five, how much the so-called _'Organa'_ brat resembled her as a child. To send my apprentice after her was supposed to be his final test as a Sith: he would either dismiss the familial connection as irrelevant, having left such weaknesses behind for good, or he would try to take her for his own apprentice; instead he failed entirely to recognize _a young female senator with an uncanny resemblance to another of that kind of his acquaintance!_"

"Organa?" the question came at an agonized, broken whisper.

The brief elation Luke felt at this unmistakable sign of his father's regaining of consciousness, faltered at the sight of how the black-armored form hunched in on itself in desperation.

_Games. Vader tortured Leia – my father tortured his own daughter! – because the Emperor was playing games with all the lives concerned…._

Hatred, all-consuming and yet colder than ice, blossomed in the young Jedi's heart. If he had still contact with the Force, the wall of flames he'd see rise around him would be of his own making – **_and he'd welcome them!_**

_And this is how Father fell_, a faint voice of reason at the back of Luke's mind remarked. He shot another side-glance at the Sithlord – and the soul-deep misery surrounding the crumpled body (noticeable even to the naked eye) abruptly quenched the flames.

"It was a setup, Father," the young rebel whispered, "not the last and far form the first one, either."

For a moment, there was no reaction, at all, and then … stillness. An unnatural stillness Luke had seen only once before.

_Time to go for broke. _

The young Jedi had kept his hands dangling loosely, which, in his kneeling position, put them near the top of his boots. Now, Luke threw himself backwards, against the armored bulk of the guard behind him but away from the pike. At the same time, one of his hands came up.

The guard was armored but armor was jointed and no one had bothered to check the young Jedi for weapons since that black-clad commander had confiscated his lightsaber. And ordinary blades didn't care about their wielders' connection to the Force…

There were plenty of large blood vessels and important nerves to take damage when a double-edged piece of plasteel punched up from between the legs. Ducking past the suddenly buckling legs – seeing the Red Guards in action had shown that the swathes of crimson cloth weren't as all-encompassing as they looked – brought another body between Luke and any weapon, but his coordination was still shot from the shocks earlier and he barely managed to scramble out of reach before the only half-incapacitated guard lashed out with his pike.

Fine motor control still wobbly from the repeated shocks, the young rebel staggered to his feet and started dodging, both the injured man crawling after him and another of his compatriots that abandoned his previous post to go after the unruly prisoner, deviating only to kick the fallen lightsaber hilt more deeply into the Force-less bubble.

_Damn!_ Silently swearing with all the vehemence three years among hangar techs and freelance pilots could produce, Luke cast about for any other sort of weapon, found a piece of decorative fries torn loose by the earlier impact and threw it at the guard stalking him. The man ducked minimally to the side and the impromptu projectile sailed right past his shoulder. The young Jedi was just far enough from the Force-less bubble to sense the derision emanating from the red-armored soldier.

_Good thing I wasn't aiming at the approaching man, then. Not really._

Inertia didn't care about the ysalamiri's evolutionary adaptions. An object in motion retained its forward momentum regardless of a tree lizard in proximity – until it smashed right into one of the fragile creatures, that was.

Torso dented visibly, the unfortunate reptile dropped. And so did one half of the neutralizing bubble keeping the Chosen One contained.

Luke felt the faintest trace of the by now familiar drawback and flattened himself to the ground immediately, much to the guard's – and the Emperor's – momentary consternation.

A heartbeat later, the remaining ysalamiri simply disintegrated.

* * *

[1]A lesser ship would have shattered against the planet-based deflector shield. At a different angle, at a different place, so would have the _Lady_. But the Super Star Destroyer was touching the shield belly-first, with dozens of square kilometers of contact area at a point where there was no Death Star, yet, underneath the spherically projected shield – and with her own particle shields bolstered by every scrap of available power. Unsupported by a solid form, the planetary shield _rippled_, for lack of a better term, and for a split-second, the intersecting particle shields merged. Then the more powerful shield reasserted itself and the _Lady_ glanced off, her own shields utterly depleted.

Yet, for a split-second, part of the gigantic warship had been _inside_ the Death Star's shield. No organic gunner could have lined up a shot (nor any helmsman the preceding positionings) with such precise timing. Such limitations did not apply to a very determined ship.

Too bad that the line of fire had been anything but clear and the Emperor's private tower was individually shielded. The objective damage was all but negligible.

* * *

A/N: It is my personal headcanon that Piett (scrawny guy grown up in a rough neighborhood) carries a knife in his boot (possibly one in each). Just in case you were wondering where sweet li'l Luke got the idea. And in case the admiral didn't also point him at his favorite cobbler, Jix can most likely get you some sort of footwear reinforced with a slim plasteel inset that doesn't irritate scanners but comes off curiously easy… ;)


	23. Begone

Cupolas were very stable constructs concerning pressure from the outside of the curve; not so much against eruptions from the inside. And there was one natural drawback to placing yourself in front of a large window to open space.

This time, transparisteel didn't have the time to shatter, it was simply ripped from its frame and hurled into the hard vacuum beyond. The two servants manning the communications consoles followed right behind, along with several other pieces of equipment and part of the window frames. Luke hastily recalled his lightsaber before he lost another one of those and otherwise made good use of old sandstorm lessons to keep from joining their fate.

By all rights, a frail old man should have been the first to get blown out – or at least get splashed against the nearest wall like his Red Guards had been, even if the nearest wall in a straight line behind them was the one on the opposite side of the elevator shaft.

Defying all physical limitations, though, the ancient Sith had somehow managed to catch himself against the solid bulk of his throne and hang there, dark robes whipping, like a grotesque weather vane.

With the open shaft funneling the air content of an Imperial stardestroyer towards the shattered window, the gale-strength winds would have continued for several minutes, but automated blast shields reacted much more quickly.

With the suction cut off, the old man regained his feet with incredible speed.

"Good! The Chosen One finally lives up to his potential!" the Emperor cackled, yellow eyes gleaming with deranged satisfaction. "Your hate has made you powerful. Now, achieve your mastery and let your son take his place at your side, for a Sith dynasty such as the galaxy has never seen before!"

As unnatural as the Emperor's survival had been so far, there was something just as deeply wrong with the fluidity with which Lord Vader came to his feet, slightly tattered cloak buffeted by a non-physical tempest, as he turned towards the rattling stairs with the unhurried but deadly grace of a great Krayt dragon rising from its sun-basking spot.

Tatooinian mythology had its fair share of demonic entities, embodiments of the merciless nature of the endless sands and her storms. People didn't really believe in them, these days, but staring at the storm-whipped figure shrouded in something Luke couldn't even call flames anymore, just a heat-shimmer of power so profound it could be seen physically, the former farmboy couldn't help but wonder if there wasn't a kernel of truth in the old wives' tales.

Much farther from the stairs – and excluded from the unnatural resilience – Luke stood little chance to reach the two older men in time to interfere in any confrontation; but nonetheless he made a last ditch effort to deny the ancient Sith his final victory – by enacting another rule of those old wives' tales, ironically. _True names have power, especially when it comes to demons, after all…. _

"Father!" he shouted above the maelstrom. "Father, don't! Don't play by his rules again!"

The forbidding mask, black as the void between the stars and just as inscrutable, turned towards the young Jedi. For a moment, power reached out in his direction, too, as implacable and unfeelingly destructive as any sandstorm – or star gone supernova.

Then the mask turned away again, as if uninterested; but just when Luke was about to lose hope for good, there was a whisper in his mind, so faint that he couldn't tell if it was a real contact or simply memory. _So much like your mother._

The next words were definitely real though – for a certain value of _real_. The voice he heard wasn't a product of the vocoder; it wasn't a physical voice, at all.

_ENOUGH_, it said. _YOUR GAMES ARE OVER, OLD MAN._

True to form until the end, the Emperor reacted by sending a volley of Force lightning not at his approaching former Second-in-Command, but at the young Jedi who'd climbed half of the steps by then, just enough to raise his head and shoulders above the platform.

Faster than lightning – _in the most literal sense!_ – half-visible flames wrapped themselves around Luke, black and bright and warm and utterly impregnable to the ancient Sith's attack. More flames enveloped the Emperor, pushing his shrieking form back against the blast shield.

_BEGONE_, the voice said almost gently – and the flames pushed further.

Halfway through the thick durasteel plate, the ancient Sith exploded. The encircling flames deflected the blast outward into open space, shredding a solid portion of the shield in the process.

Then there was a moment of eerie quiet.

Luke would have welcomed it, if his father hadn't chosen the very _next_ second to collapse into a boneless heap. No longer upheld by incorporeal barriers, air pressure inside the tower once more tried to equalize with hard vacuum.

One hand clawed into black armor-weave, the young rebel turned his concentration on the armor-rated bulk of the throne and _yanked_.

With the reinforced seat as the middle strut, the young Jedi shoved several panels off the walls into the gaping opening and packed another layer of red armor-weave on top. It wasn't elegant nor a long-term solution, but, well, he knew slapdash spaceship repairs and stuffing leaks with everything on hand and letting internal air pressure keep the plugs in place was a feasible way of patching holes in space, provided you didn't intend to enter hyperspace or an atmosphere that way.

When breathing normally was at least a _possible_ option, Luke cautiously turned the prone body over. What lights of the life-support system had not burned out completely, were blinking frantically and the tell-tale hiss of the ventilator was ominously quiet, too. Even the Force was only flickering softly around the Chosen One.

In desperation, the young Jedi grabbed onto the guttering embers, trying to pour his own power into the failing body and restoke the fire on that fuel.

For endless seconds … _minutes? … eons?_ all he seemed to achieve was to further smother the flames instead, before suddenly a shuddering gasp was his reward.

A black gauntlet weakly clawed upwards.

"Luke … help me… take … mask …off," a hoarse whisper begged.

The young rebel shook his head in abject refusal. "But you'll die!"

A feeble gesture towards one of the other wings of the throne room. "Palp… old man … health … support …'quipment."

Luke ran. What he found was of a sophistication that went right over his head, but an oxygen mask was an oxygen mask and if the setup of the supplemental tanks had not exactly been meant to be man-portable, well, desperate determination and the Force went a long way to pry one loose.

He had just barely finished hooking his father up to the breathing equipment, when a brief flare of elation not his own preceded a shriek of warning from the Force.

Obviously having felt the same, his father started to struggle upright. Again, desperate determination and the Force were put to the test, but in combination with the _Skywalker _doesn't-know-when-to-quit_ gene_, as Han had once jokingly called it, the young Jedi somehow managed to support half again his own weight of man, metal and armor into the high-end shuttle he had noticed docked at yet another wing of the construct.

By the time he had bypassed all preflight procedures and virtually torn the shuttle from her docking ring, whole wings of fighters were pouring into the finally unshielded innards of the half-finished Death Star.

Luke had just set his course towards the Sanctuary Moon – the battlefield was convoluted enough without throwing the Emperor's personal shuttle _(plus possession of an incapacitated Heir Apparent to the Empire)_ into the mix – when blue-grey durasteel suddenly blocked his flight path.

The enormous bulk of the _Lady _shot up from beyond the horizon of the artificial moon like a hungry krakana breaching the waves – and green plasma swallowed the stars.


	24. Aftermath

There was no turbulence in space, of course, but pilot reflexes trying to evade a near-continuous curtain of turbolaser fire coming down all around, combined with strong tractor beams projected by a capital ship forging ahead at full power and at right angles to the shuttle's previous course, made for a rather bumpy ride, for the next few seconds.

After a moment of initial panic – _it's the Emperor's personal shuttle, oh kriff, it's probably right there in the transponder code!_ – it quickly became apparent that the barrage wasn't aimed at the captured vessel; the sheer amount of plasma streaming by _(and at a rather hazardously close distance, too!)_ was probably wreaking havoc on the paint job but since the shuttle hadn't been evaporated yet …. After a brief mental check on his father – _unconscious and far from well, but no worse than before_ – Luke cut the engines before they burned themselves out and put his faith in the fact that the Force had been with them this far, so hopefully it would stay around and allow them to put enough distance between them and the Death Star before the latter blew up.

There were too many jammers still active, though, for the young rebel to get a sensible reading on the situation, so he focused on things more easily visible. As they were drawn nearer, the blinding wall of turbolaser fire dwindled away, and close up the Super Star Destroyer had taken some serious damage. There were scars along her flanks and belly, whole chunks missing that, compared to her overall length, had to be hundreds of meters long.

Mere damage-fueled ferocity was an unlikely cause for the hot welcome, though; Luke wondered fleetingly if the irate warship might have somehow picked up on the Emperor's reaction to her earlier shots. As a test, to see if the man she wanted dead so badly was indeed aboard his own shuttle, the deadly lightshow would have been pretty effective, the young Jedi assumed. The ancient Sith would have definitely tried something … _noticeable_, to put a stop to the incoming fire.

A ragged hole into the blue-grey wall of durasteel yawned darkly and put a stop to his wandering thoughts. The side hangar they eventually ended up in, somewhere close to the stern of the giant ship, was missing about half of its previous floor space and parts of a wall. A magnetic field kept the remains under a breathable atmosphere, at least. They had been barely dragged through that barrier before a sudden flare of blue-white light threw every gouge and scorch mark into sharp relief.

Luke felt perfectly justified to let himself slump forward for a moment and let victory drain away the accumulated stress.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Movement at the edge of his vision pulled him back to the here and now. Grey and black figures were moving to surround the shuttle and the young rebel, with some effort, sat up to take a closer look at them.

Admiral Piett looked worn, as if the battle had raged for hours, if not days, and kept one arm very close to his body. The dozen or so men he had with him were all armed, all extremely wary and none of them stormtroopers.

Before Luke could properly consider what this might mean for the overall situation aboard, a fierce (if perhaps only semi-intentional) query filled his mind.

_Luke?!_ his sister questioned, accompanied by a wordless _Fear. Love. Desperate hope_.

_Alive. Safe. Will find you_, the young Jedi sent back, and finally heaved himself from the pilot's seat.

Another check on his father – _no change_ – before he made his way to the hatch release and, as soon as the vapors let him, down the ramp.

It had been a few months since he'd looked down so many blaster barrels and this time they were most likely _not_ set on stun, but Luke barely even noticed them.

"My father is injured. I need a medical capsule ASAP!" he said instead.

Piett studied him silently for a too long second, then nodded and snapped an unknown name into his comlink. From a side-door, a medical team rushed over and the young rebel quickly led them back into the shuttle.

He had just stepped back to let them work unhindered, when a firm grip caught his arm.

"What about you?"

Luke was about to declare himself fine, when the admiral turned a pointed look down his chest. "Anything that leaves singe marks like those cannot have been conductive to good health and adrenaline is a very poor substitute to proper medical attention."

The young Jedi sighed.

"I'll live," he amended and tried to steer the conversation on a more immediately important track. "What is the situation overall, do you know?"

It was the older man's turn to sigh. He waved Luke a few steps further back.

"I cannot give you much more than what you've seen on the flight in," Piett started quietly, shook his head in frustration and went on, "Word of advice, Commander: should you ever find yourself in the situation to instruct a ship to compensate for a compromised command crew, take a moment to realize that she is quite literally the air you breathe, the gravity that keeps you grounded and in general everything that keeps you safe and moving in a nonviable environment.

When the Emperor proved that he could not only cause confusion from afar but stage an internal attack, the Lady was … _shocked_ might be the proper word. Attacked in a way she had not expected, she reacted the only way she knew and for a warship there is only **_crew_** and **_targets_**; some of the latter might be friendly targets and some hostiles, but targets all the same."

Another sigh and a probably subconscious rub of the injured shoulder. "Long story short, she re-categorized every single soul aboard as targets. And I mean _every_ soul – I had one hell of a time trying to convince her that I am truly who I pretend to be and not some puppet slaved to an external control."

The medical team pushed past them with their precious cargo, interrupting the speech, and the two men automatically fell in behind them.

They had barely cleared the ramp before the hapless shuttle was snatched up again by the tractor beams and flung out of the hangar, open hatch and all, at an angle that would almost immediately leave her in the wake of the giant warship. The young rebel couldn't help but grimace in sympathy: the engine backwash of a capital ship was always a hazard for small vessels and given the _Lady_'s size and the closeness to the engines the shuttle was about to find herself in …

_Dead effective way to make sure no stowaways will get aboard through _that _shuttle, though, _Luke's inner cynic commented.

"Like I said: she is not in a trustful mood, right now," the admiral all but echoed his thoughts and there was worse, much worse than simply bruised limbs and egos on his tone.

Whatever political hurdles would arise from sharing the news in unknown company and with his father still out of action, they could hardly be more catastrophic than nineteen kilometers worth of death and destruction turned loose cannon by (not entirely unfounded) paranoia, the young Jedi decided promptly.

"The Emperor is dead," he offered quietly, "would that help to reassure her? And would she believe me?"

Piett slumped, minimally but noticeably, in relief. Before he could open his mouth to give an answer, though, someone else cut in.

_She will believe **me**_, a mental voice insisted.

Startled, Luke saw blue eyes – _just like mine!_ – above a breathing mask catch his for a moment, before the capsule slid forwards and the shifting angle obscured the view.

Hurrying after the medical team as they moved deeper into the ship – automated doors snapping closed behind them in an almost vicious fashion, followed by the tell-tale clunk of durasteel settling against hard vacuum – the young rebel informed the admiral, "Errr, my father just told me, she will believe _him_."

Perhaps in reaction to the nearest medics' double-take at the announcement, faint amusement tinted the next mental contact.

_Thank you for interpreting, Son, but this won't be necessary any longer, I hope. As I know my Lady, she is already_ _hijacking the sensors and controls of the capsule, including the comlink, in her zeal to ascertain **my** identity._

For the external speakers of said comlink, the following hoarse whisper was too faint to make out any sensible words; the _Lady_'s reaction, on the other hand, made perfect sense in context with the question Luke had been privy to, mentally: _Will you lend me your voice, Lady?_

_YES_

To a man, the assorted Imperials didn't blink at the inhuman voice, but here were some astonished looks when the next words came in Lord Vader's unmistakable mechanic baritone.

"The Emperor died on the Death Star," his father began. "As such, leadership of the Empire now falls to me – including the duty to end this pointless civil war."

A short pause, just long enough to take a deep, bracing breath.

"Lady, make it fleet-wide – and also broadcast the same message on as many rebel frequencies as you have."

There was no sign of assent that Luke could discern, but the next words seemed to come from every speaker the ship possessed.

"This is Lord Vader speaking. To all vessels of the fleet: disengage from the enemy and retreat to the far side of the moon. Hold positions there and cease fire, unless attacked. All ships, acknowledge!"

There was a pregnant pause while – or so the young rebel assumed – bafflement about a seemingly nonsensical order warred with the indisputable authority of a Sithlord.

Then the incoming com-lines went live. "This is Captain Pellaeon, _Chimaera_ is disengaging."

Luke released the breath he'd involuntarily been holding. _There went the secondary command ship after the _Executor. _Except… hadn't there been an admiral aboard?_

Another unknown voice cut off his musings. "Admiral Haarsk here. _Arrowheads_: disengage! _Whirlwind _will follow as soon as that damn frigate is out of my way."

A host of other ships and Captains or even admirals followed, but the young Jedi quickly stopped listening. Temporarily freed from the need to watch his step by boarding a turbolift, he cast out his mind wider than he'd ever tried and deliberately unfocused, so that only large amounts of lifeforms congregated close together would catch his notice. A three-dimensional map started to form in his mind, not unlike a tactical display and yet completely different, though it served the same purpose:

_The Sanctuary Moon, teeming with life, glowed softly in the distance; all around him, three hundred thousand lives swirled with a dizzying array of emotions, but with some fierce concentration Luke set them aside as background, much like he had the dazzling snows on Hoth; what he was really interested in, were the starbursts shining through the empty space beyond. The _Lady_ had never rejoined the fray, the young Jedi saw, she was just holding a position some distance behind the tangled fleets – which were slowly **un**tangling! The first larger ships were starting to move towards her, trailing smaller sparks of life that quickly peeled away once they got too close to the giant warship…_

The feeling of his back lit on fire thoroughly ruined his concentration. Luke resurfaced from the Force with a gasp, with his father's mental shout ringing in his ears and a pair of worried faces looking down on him. He must have swayed back absentmindedly, pressing his burned back against the wall of the turbolift, the young Jedi realized, and then slid down when the pain of impact had buckled his knees, further aggravating the injury.

His hastily bit-out "I'm fine!" was met with general disbelief and a pair of burly medics took a careful but very firm hold of his arms.

Wisely, Luke didn't try to repeat the statement until he'd been slathered, back and chest, with a generous helping of bacta spray.

He _had_ managed to escape a more comprehensive treatment by stating the vital importance of leaving the ship within a very tight timeframe, which had led to a quiet but intense discussion between a stone-faced admiral and his scowling Chief Medical Officer that had ended with a stern lecture to get proper care for the internal damage caused by repeated electrical shocks **_within the day_** or (literally) suffer the consequences.

Well, to be entirely honest, it had also led to an even more heated (if inaudible) argument between father and son, and Luke wasn't too sure that he hadn't won that one merely because the black flames were too drained at the moment, to keep a hold on the young Jedi against his will.

_Or maybe citing the need to reassure my sister has won the day, low blow though it has been._

* * *

A/N: A word on Luke's lack of reaction to his father's unmasked appearance, so far: (a) he already knows most about his father's injuries; and (b) he's a space jockey, he knows only too well how long the human body can go without oxygen and what happens when that time runs out. Since this time there is no *take off my mask, so I can look on you with my own eyes before I die anyway*, Luke has been far too occupied with the technical necessities of keeping dear ol' dad from suffocating (and then getting off the DS before the thing goes deservedly kablooie) to compare and contrast facial features. There might be time for that later on, but right now they have other things on their minds.


	25. Repercussions

In the controlled chaos that was two vast fleets disentangling, who'd been at each other's throats for the better part of an hour, a lone fighter dipping all too close to the still expanding cloud of debris that had been the galaxy's most monstrous battlestation previously, was easily overlooked.

Likewise, from below, another metallic object entering the atmosphere of the Sanctuary Moon was hardly noteworthy, even if it was somewhat larger than most fragments that had made it this far already. As far as any planet-based sensors were concerned, it was coming in in a continent-sized cloud of chaff.

Unfortunately, the same held true from _inside_ the cockpit. Without the Force, Luke really wouldn't have liked to perform that particular piece of blind flying.

With the Force, however, the young Jedi weaved through the wreckage and kept going, making good use of the fact that in his chosen landing area most higher obstacles were alive or at least covered in live vegetation and the beacon he was homing in on was his sister's bright, familiar presence. It was probably for the better that TIEs – even advanced ones – didn't come with an astromech, though; R2-D2 would have definitely had something to say about a pilot steering his ship through atmospheric entry with his eyes mostly closed.

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As landings went, it was definitely a good one since the young rebel could walk away from it unimpeded; much like his first touchdown on Dagobah, however, he would probably need help to extricate his borrowed ship from the surrounding vegetation if the latter ever was to make a return trip – the tiny glade had been the place closest to the bunker that could just barely fit the TIE and Luke didn't feel like hiking far to see his friends and family again.

He could have landed right on top of the bunker, too, of course, but that might have raised awkward questions and perhaps even more awkward friendly fire and the young Jedi wasn't in the mood for that, either. It was tiresome enough to have an AT-ST jerk its guns towards him for a split-second, before his sister swept across the clearing in front of the bunker it was guarding and nearly bowled Luke to the ground with the impetus of her embrace.

Piett and his Chief Med had known what they were talking about, the young rebel had to admit ruefully, adrenaline – and the Force – had carried him so far, but now the exertions of the day were starting to catch up with him, with interest. _Too bad there still were a number of things that needed settling, first._

Always the perceptive one, Leia soon switched her hold to _'at arm's length'_ and gave him a critical once-over.

"Luke? What happened to you?!"

"Long story." A quick look around showed not only Han, Chewie, Zev and Jix – all sporting identical relieved grins or the Wookiee equivalent, respectively – and a few Alliance soldiers he knew by sight, but also a handful of captured scout troopers within earshot.

_Better keep to the absolute basics, then._ "The Emperor is dead. Vader is withdrawing his fleet from the battle. I … Leia, what is Ackbar doing? Have you heard?"

Dark eyes narrowed at the evasion, his sister nonetheless gave a sharp nod. "Yes. Come along, I'll show you."

Cool, grey, uniform Imperial architecture was starting to look unsettlingly familiar. The single display in the tiny command center of the bunker showed a holographic map of the system, the likes of which Luke had seen all too often, too, today. He let Leia explain the details to him, regardless.

"Everyone is holding their fire, right now. Ackbar is drawing the fleet together, here. Vader's here. He still has enough Interdictors to keep the system locked down, but even if he turned them off for some reason, I don't think Ackbar would have our ships leave immediately. We still have a lot of ejected pilots and escape pods out there."

"Excuse me, ma'am," the young soldier manning the console interrupted, "you're not going to believe this, but just a minute ago Vader made a general broadcast and said it would be more efficient if both fleets did the sweep of the system together; and then he offered to return all of our survivors they found, if we did the same with theirs and also included all prisoners made on the moon here in the exchange."

There were few things that could render the former Alderaani senator speechless, but a non-aggressive Sithlord was apparently one of them.

The pause made it easier for Luke to answer the inevitable question preemptively.

"It's a genuine offer. Vader honestly means to end this fight – if we let him."

"Why w… . Of course. He doesn't want to fight a two-front war until he has secured himself the throne, properly."

_Huh?_ Before the young Jedi could open his mouth to refute _that _motivation, another voice beat him to it.

"If he wanted to remove the military threat the Alliance poses, here and now would be the perfect place," Zev said with an unshakable, based-on-solid-fact conviction. "The Death Star was as much hindrance as help in the battle so far, the way that idiot Jerjerrod used it – not that I'm sure it could ever be a truly efficient weapon against small and mobile targets – take that thing out of the equation and the Alliance is still outgunned almost ten-to-one. Admiral Ackbar has some advantages in speed and agility and he knows how to use them, but barring a miracle, he can't win against those odds, he can only make it a very costly Imperial victory. Lord Vader can afford another Giju, though."

_And therein lies the crux of the matter_. By the time Luke had left the _Lady_, his father had been about to call in a holo-conference – the blank mask and mechanic voice easily simulated from his ship's databanks, he had to do nothing for that but mouth his text – to inform the rest of the commanding officers of the Emperor's death and to draw them in line with his ceasefire plans. As the ex-lieutenant – albeit one with a genetic predisposition towards a good sense for tactics – had just pointed out, all those Imperial Captains and admirals would have to accept the deliberate loss of a huge strategic advantage for that, though.

If anyone had argued, or, _Stars forbid_, even disputed Vader's place as next-in-line for the Throne, things could have turned ugly, real quick, there. His father was frustrated and in pain already and the Dark Side fed on those emotions with relish; to aggravate him further would not only result in the instigator's messy death, presumably, but might also shift the balance back towards the Dark. There had been no manifest explosions of temper so far, but Luke dreaded to find the warm dark flames turned back to their initial searing iciness, next time he reached out in their direction.

With a conscious effort, he pushed his mind on a more positive track. If all that careful pruning and shuffling of ranks in the last few months had worked out, on the other hand, the avoidance of a senseless waste of lives would make a powerful counterargument, as long as the alternative tactic wasn't shot down _(literally!)_ by a distrustful Alliance.

To avoid _that _end, he reached out for his sister, trying to convey conviction any way he could. "Leia, the Force does not lie. This _can_ be the turning point. This can change the course of the galaxy without any further bloodshed."

"Hate to be so blunt, Princess,"Jix added, sounding anything but contrite, "but the boy is right. Vader would be better off if he went all in now instead of pulling back. Would suit his temper much better, too, he isn't exactly the type to play nice now and stab you in the back months later, and certainly not when the opportunity to clear up things in one decisive strike lies right in front of him."

Chewie rumbled some sort of agreement and Han gave an apologetic shrug. "Doesn't make any sense to me either, Leia. Unless that realization, that the Empire's not going the way it ought to be, made it right to the top …."

"No! That isn't possible!" Denial, sharp and bitter, colored his sister's tone. Before Luke could get really worried about the seething mass of anger he could feel in her mind, though, the former senator bowed to the voice of the majority. "It doesn't matter what his motivations are, we cannot afford to refuse the offer, if there is any chance for sincerity."

Turning towards the young woman at the communications console, she added, "Beezer, can you get me a secure line to Admiral Ackbar …"

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In the lull that followed, while the different members of High Command hashed out the details, Zev – who'd wisely chosen to get out of Leia's immediate line of sight after his bold declaration – managed to discreetly catch Luke's attention.

"Any news, by chance?" the younger Veers breathed, as soon as the young Jedi had eased himself into the nook beside him.

Luke took a deep breath.

_On his way towards one of the surviving fighter hangars, he'd tried to get a more comprehensive overview of the _Lady_'s reaction to the Emperor's threat. For starting, he'd asked the man accompanying him, "I'll run into Zev pretty soon. Is there, ah, anything I should tell him?"_

_Adm. Piett had thrown him a look that had been near impossible to read. _

_"The armor saved him," he'd said then, "it kept his skull and spine from getting irreparably smashed when he hit the wall with all the force to be expected when eight to five gees were suddenly pulling at him sidewise, because the gravity generators inside the tower had switched to a distinctively non-standard pattern. Sheer stubbornness kept him from suffocating under his own bodyweight until I had talked her into not squeezing him to death immediately."_

_A brief grimace. "Other people around him were not so fortunate."_

_Some of Luke's shocked confusion must have shown, since the admiral had grinned humorlessly. "All targets, remember? For old time's sake, I got only one and a half and a chance to talk my way out of it, but if several of the generators hadn't blown out when she pushed substantially more power into them than they were rated for, those eight to five gees would have been deep into the double digits. And that would have turned more than half of my bridge crew into red paste, armor or no."_

"He's alive and on the _Lady_, that much Piett told me," the young Jedi answered truthfully.

A solid weight settled against the wall on his other side and a low Corellian drawl asked, "And what about my favorite uncle?"

"Same, more or less," Luke said softly and caught himself a sharp look.

"There's nine hells of unpleasant possibilities that could be left unsaid in that statement, you realize that, kid?"

The young Jedi sighed. Jix had been quick to pick up the habit of calling Luke _kid_ from Han (while in the opposite direction, Zev had acquired the appellation _boy_, much to his chagrin), but these days, the diminutive nicknames mostly resurfaced when the older Corellians were worried.

_And speaking of worried Corellians ..._ Han, who'd so far kept at Leia's side undaunted by her roused temper, had just spared a side-glance at the trio lurking in the shadows, done a double-take and was now striding over with sharp purpose in his eyes.

"Kid, what's wrong with you? You're looking grey!"

Luke shrugged. "Just tired, Han. Had a little run-in with a Red Guard and his pike, earlier."

Three pairs of eyes stared at him and the young rebel quickly added, "I'm fine. On the way back I liberated a generous dose of bacta-spray."

"You're not!" Jix and Zev exclaimed simultaneously, shared a startled look and turned their combined focus back on Luke.

"Listen, kid," the Corellian agent started, "force pikes are nasty buggers; I've seen people get up after a touch of those and keel over dead a few hours later because their heart had gone out-of-sync under the shocks and after some time it just gave up under the strain."

Hazel eyes snapped from Luke to Jix and back.

"Okay, that's it." Han gave the comlink at his collar a violent tap. "Lando, get my ship down here! I need her. Now!"

Without waiting for any sort of acknowledgement, the ex-smuggler next stalked over to the communications console. "Leia, tell them to keep that thought, you're coming up. They obviously need your personal touch up there and Luke here has an urgent appointment with the _Redemption_."

"The _Redemption_ was destroyed by the Death Star," Leia gave back distractedly, before the rest of Han's speech caught up with her and dark eyes rose up to glare at the tall Corellian, half angry, half appalled. "Han! You can't just commandeer ..."

"Sorry, Your Hignessness, should have thought of that one before you made me a general. I'm pretty sure I can."

* * *

A/N: Giju was the site of an insanely costly Republican victory in the Clone Wars. Sounds like the sort of thing a military academy would have its cadets dissect six ways to Sunday, to point out every flaw in the tactics (and hopefully don't make the same mistakes themselves, later in their careers).

A/N2: the human body can stand some 5-20 gees, depending on which direction they come from, for a few seconds of acceleration (or deceleration). Flat on your back, 5-8 gees should be survivable even for a couple of minutes, though data gets rather spotty once you make it past the 60 seconds line. But we are talking gees as a measure of gravity here, not just acceleration; and gravity usually kills people by pulling them towards a hard surface some distance away. The Bridge of the _Lady_ is certainly big enough to stand several meters away from a wall and if you _"fall"_ towards that wall with several times the normal gravity to speed you along …


	26. Respite

Luke honestly hadn't done a thing; when the difference of opinion between Han and Leia had escalated, though, the muttered words, "Hope they stop arguing before the sky comes down on us," had barely left his mouth before a house-sized lump of durasteel finally lost its fight with air drag and exploded a few kilometers up the atmosphere with a thunderclap that was well audible even inside the bunker.

All eyes turned to stare at the young Jedi, and then there was suddenly a general agreement that the team had done the job it had come for and it was about time to evacuate everyone. Everyone including their prisoners, to serve as a hand-delivered token of goodwill towards Lord Vader, should he really intend to go through with the offer – Leia still wasn't convinced of his sincerity.

Being a freighter – even if she rarely acted like one, these days – the _Falcon_ could easily carry some forty-plus people for a short trip up to space; when about half of those would not come along entirely voluntarily, though, she would need to be able to land properly to get them aboard. Consequently, the clearing in front of the bunker had to be expanded to the size of a standard docking bay in the time it took Lando to circumnavigate the cloud of fragmented Death Star.

In the unofficial contest of explosives vs. AT-ST-mounted blaster cannons as tree-cutting methods, the explosives won on a technicality: well-placed charges felled a tree in such a way that its fall took a neighboring tree down with it.

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Of the flight back to the Alliance fleet, Luke later remembered getting herded into a backseat in the cockpit of the _Falcon_ –"To keep an eye on you, kid"; fragments of the story various people had told him in the attempt to keep him awake, about the adventures the rest of the strike team had had – "Oh, it all went fine. Ol'Covy here raised such a merry hell that the lieutenant in charge of the bunker was still apologizing, five minutes after we'd secured the whole thing," followed by a dry "Do try to bear the rank with a minimum of decorum, _General_," from the aforementioned former colonel; and then things went increasingly hazy.

The last impression was the wooly-spicy smell of Chewie's fur when the giant Wookiee lifted him up like a sleepy child.

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Warm flames cradling him were the first sensation when he woke. Only half-aware, he reached back, causing a brief flare of fiery protectiveness and then the contact all but dwindled away.

_Don't you ever dare scare me like that, again!_ his father's disembodied voice scolded.

_Huh?_ the young Jedi gave back eloquently.

_Your presence _faded_. If your sister had not kept her confidence, despite her warranted anxiety, I …._ Roiling flames overwhelmed any verbal expressions.

Blinking sluggishly, Luke identified his surroundings as an Alliance medical suite and breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment, he had been really worried that his father had thrown all thoughts of peace and caution to the winds and torn through the Alliance fleet to get him back.

_I'm fine, now,_ the young rebel sent back, pouring every scrap of conviction he could summon into the message. _What about you? You were worse off than me, by far!_

_I received proper medical attention a lot sooner, though. And I am fully trained in various techniques to increase my body's healing capabilities, _was the decidedly unimpressed answer.

_You'll have to teach me some of those then, at some point,_ Luke replied and promptly changed the topic. _Meanwhile, what happened while I was out?_

Irritation flicked at him for an instant before a flood of mental images started to pour in.

Several dozen grey-uniformed men stood projected, row upon row, in one immense holo-feed. For commanders of their obvious rank and experience, they looked unexpectedly befuddled, almost dazed, even before Lord Vader's characteristic mechanic baritone informed them of the Emperor's demise, the following assumption of leadership and his most immediate plans.

_The effects of the Emperor's broken influence,_ his father added in explanation when he sensed Luke's confusion, _most of their initiative is gone. If left to their own devices, they might have lost the battle, yet – with more than twice the amount of ships and a much higher fraction of capital warships, they might have lost! Conversely, they would have followed **any** decisive voice of command; and while this is convenient for our present purposes, in my absence any junior officer with sufficient presence of mind and force of personality could have made off with most of the fleet. _

The young Jedi didn't bother to hide his revulsion._ They won't stay that way, will they? _

_No. In a few hours, a day or two at most, they will be back to their previous level of decisiveness. Hopefully, until then the situation will have settled somewhat and they will have grown to accept the new order._

_The current situation being? _Luke urged.

Another image, that of Admiral Ackbar agreeing to a temporary ceasefire to rescue as many survivors of the various destroyed vessels as possible, on the condition of a full exchange of everyone recovered by the opposite side – unless the rescuee in question stated a clear wish, of his own free will, _not _to be exchanged. The caveat had Leia's fierce protectiveness of freedom of choice written all over it; the fact that Vader had accepted it without further comment had left Ackbar visibly fighting not to, well, _gape like a fish_.

Next came the vision of a display showing the two fleets spread out into a pair of vast nets scanning the system, while smaller ships dove into the larger agglomerations of wreckage to search through the sensor shadows there.

_Surprisingly fruitful, so far. The scans alone have yielded several hundreds of survivors from both sides, _Luke's father declared._ Your Commander Antilles volunteered to start combing through the wreckage of the Death Star; not to be outdone, Colonel Fel has taken on the opposite side of the cloud of debris with his Sabers. Between them, they have already located various escape pods and a number of survivors from construction crews working in full space-gear, I believe._

A thoughtful pause._ More importantly, however, they have started to coordinate their efforts on an open channel and this example of cooperation, as stiff and utilitarian as the actual conversation might have been, has encouraged further contacts. It is not an overall effect but in some areas, the two fleets are not only not shooting at each other, but truly working together._

_Wow! _The young Jedi was honestly impressed._ You've been really busy._

Inaudible laughter. A fleeting impression of a boyish smirk._ Not at all. Much the same as you, I have been lazing around while other people do all the hard work._

Then the chuckles quickly dried up._ But speaking of other people, open your eyes, Son, and reassure your sister that you are on the mend!_

Flailing uncoordinatedly at what felt like a solid shove at the end of the contact, Luke jerked himself fully awake and found, as predicted, Leia in a seat next to his bed. Not quite as predicted, she seemed fast asleep, though, curled up against Han's shoulder who had apparently taken over the watch.

Quirking an eyebrow at the young Jedi flopping around on the bed, the older Corellian thankfully chose not to comment.

"Welcome back to the land of the living, kid," he said softly instead.

"Uh, thanks. I … ah, how long was I out?"

"Couple of hours. Got us a little worried when your pulse dropped to forty, but you made it back pretty much on your own and, according to the doc, you should make a full recovery – provided you do exactly as told, from now on …" A deep scowl darkened the hazel eyes for a moment and Luke guiltily dropped his gaze.

"Uh, I …"

"Leia said, she would make sure of that," Han threatened, then looked down, too, for a fond glance at the formidable young woman snuggled against his side. "Even though she was certain, the entire time, that you would be fine in the end."

A minimal pause and just the slightest hint of a question behind the otherwise inscrutable sabacc face. "She's good with that. Somehow she _just knew_, too, that you hadn't been on the Death Star when it blew."

"Must be twin intuition," Luke mused – and promptly bit his tongue when Han's startled expression told him that he had been thinking aloud.

"Twins, huh?"

"Uh, ... yeah," the young Jedi admitted, saw the memory of a kiss he'd been trying _real hard_ not to think about, anymore, reflected in his friend's eyes and hastened to explain, "But she doesn't know. I found out only a few months ago and I didn't want to tell anyone else, 'cause ... I mean, you know how people go after my _friends_ – I don't want to know what they would have done to get at my _sister_!"

The ex-smuggler made a vaguely agreeing noise.

_Bespin. Carbonite. Fett. Yes, he **does** know a little about the dangers of being close to Skywalkers_, a sarcastic inner voice commented. Desperate to get away from this particular topic, Luke unsubtly tried to change tracks.

"Speaking of anyone else, where is everybody?"

Another raised eyebrow but before the Corellian could react any further, an offended twitter identified the whereabouts of at least one other friend. Craning his neck, the young Jedi found the familiar blue-white form tucked into a corner and immediately felt more secure about his family secrets _staying secrets_ – R2 had taken up bug-hunting as a new hobby the day they had returned from the _Lady,_ and he had not only gotten rather good at it but almost paranoid in his diligence (at least the astromech's insistence on checking for them wherever _he_ went, though usually coinciding with wherever _Luke _went, had kept the young Jedi from suspicions of undue secrecy, so far).

A cleared throat turned Luke's attention back at Han.

"Chewie's working on the _Falcon_ – she's taken a few hits and right now, I'd rather have a ship in top condition on standby, just in case; he's taken Goldenrod with him, in case he needs to ask her something, seeing how the repair expert" – a quick wave towards an unimpressed R2 – "has decided there's another progress he needs to monitor."

A sharp whistle and a pair of support struts hitting the ground with dull thuds made it clear that it would have taken a whole clan of Wookiees armed with crowbars to pry the determined astromech away from his injured master. The Corellian didn't seem to have found fault with that.

"Jix is ... no idea, actually, but I'm sure he's found a way to make himself useful, somewhere. And the boy, well, he's been a comm officer, he's good at deciphering what the Imps actually mean behind all their stiff phrases and that's dead useful right now, if we want to _keep_ everyone not shooting at each other, regardless of how temptingly close they get."

The ex-flight officer turned smuggler turned rebel general sounded genuinely appealed by the prospect.

Encouraged, the young Jedi dared to ask, "And … _do _we want that?"

"Hells, yes, kid! War's only good for the carrion feeders; pirates, smugglers, slave-runners – they grow fat in a war. All the rest just suffers and dies in it."

Hazel eyes dropped down again.

"I spend the first ten years of my life in a war, it's not the right place for a kid to grow up in, trust me on that," Han finished, speaking mostly to himself.

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Most people had a harder time accepting possible peace, though, Luke learned.

While _Search_ might have become a sort of joint venture, the actual _Rescue_ was nonetheless left, if in any way feasible, to the respective side, to avoid … _unnecessary losses._ Since few, if any, of the rescuees had the means to listen to the previously absurdly far-fetched Empire-Alliance agreements, getting picked up by the enemy every so often triggered some extreme measures to avoid getting captured alive, unless it happened to someone already incapacitated. After all, as the Alliance had found out the hard way, surviving capture was more often than not a _worse _alternative than death and the Imperial soldiers had been likewise indoctrinated.

It was distressing enough to have one of the _'eyeballs'_ hanging over them, sizing up their helplessly tumbling form for target practice until an Alliance rescue ship had scared it off, as one of the ejected pilots was repeating over and over again, once he'd been brought to the medical suite after rescue.

The young Jedi could only hope that with a chance to actually_ talk_ to each other, the mutual distrust would lessen, over time.

* * *

A/N: Explosives are a legitimate method of cutting trees (emphasis on cut, you don't want to create a cloud of flaming splinters!) if you need to do it by remote, because nearby power lines, tension created by a tangle of storm-snapped trunks, etc. would make the risk for anyone standing right next to the tree when it comes down unacceptably high. Cannon fire is ... well, a practicable way? ;)

A/N2: The Separatist Crisis exploded into the Clone Wars when Han was about seven; however, it had started several years before his birth and there were plenty of battles, localized wars and invasions before the Galactic Senate finally accepted the fait accompli. A lack of official recognition doesn't make things any less of a war, though, in my – _and Han's?_ – books ….


	27. Skepticism

_What was Lord Vader thinking?!_ That was the all-important, all-consuming question of the hour. Risking their warships for the chance to recover as many of their troops as possible was one thing. To walk into the Sarlacc's pit deliberately, by sending several members of High Command into a meeting with the Sithlord – as the latter had proposed right before the rebels had jumped away from the Endor system, with the supposed goal of turning the shaky ceasefire into a lasting armistice – was quite another.

Making things worse, Vader had put forward a time and had left it to the Alliance to suggest a location; the set date, however, was the end of the week, three days after Endor, which counted as both outrageously short notice _and_ near-suicidally tardy. As a hastily dropped sensor buoy reported, the new head of the Empire had kept his fleet in the Endor system, busy with salvage and repair operations and made no move towards securing Coruscant – as if he considered negotiations with the rebels a more important business.

Every person among Alliance High Command and Council who had personal experience with the Imperial Court argued that if the Sithlord possessed even a shred of sense, he should know better; everyone more acquainted with the latter, on the other hand, held the opinion that Lord Vader had most of the Imperial Fleet and Army – and a legendary loathing for the court. If he wanted Coruscant, he would have it, with or without an intact planetary crust and the second option might actually be the preferred one. Which still didn't explain why he wanted to deal with the Alliance first …

_So, what in the Force's name was Lord Vader thinking?!_

Luke could have answered that, at least partially – _he wants his children safe! Everything else is secondary, Coruscant included, but he'll come up with something, no doubt _– but had endured too strong a lecture about **_NOT_** exposing himself (or his sister) to try. Fortunately, the question was indeed so all-consuming that it superseded all debriefings from the Endor mission and so the young Jedi had miraculously gotten away with confirming the Emperor's death – easily explained as being _very_ noticeable in the Force – and insisting to anyone who would listen (and quite a few who didn't seem to do so) that the Force had confirmed the honesty of Vader's stated intentions.

Luke had been prepared to explain himself to Leia privately, with a condensed version of events which described that yes, he had not only drawn Vader's attention away by separating from the strike team but secured it by allowing himself to be taken to the man; the meeting had been much less confrontational than the one on Bespin and consequently, following the lead of the Force, he had taken the offered chance to dispose of the Emperor in a concert action – an opponent the Sithlord had openly admitted he could not take on alone; after insisting that the young Jedi would receive at least a minimum of medical attention, Vader had let Luke go afterwards. High Command's urgent summon for the princess (accompanied, naturally, by the Alliance's latest general) had put an end to those plans, though.

Not that the young Jedi had entirely escaped the raging argument in the Council. A tentative suggestion, that Vader might have had the same insight about the New Order gone decidedly off-course as so many of their recent recruits, was quickly turned on its head and devolved into a fierce debate if the Sithlord hadn't started the wave of defections – and if, accordingly, those so-called defections had ever been any real.

Luke had been called as witness that yes, those men and women had all been speaking true when claiming their intentions to topple the Emperor and create a more just and peaceful galaxy in his wake – and spent most of the interview silently praying that no one would take notice now, as they hadn't before, that very few of the newcomers had stated an overwhelming fondness of the Republic. That point remained unquestioned, thankfully, but instead a few suspicious looks were getting aimed at the young Jedi.

_Just what had happened on Bespin between the two of them? Couldn't it be, that the first double agent the Sithlord had sent their way, had been ..._

Mon Mothma, unexpectedly, came to Luke's defense. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, Fey'lya. Commander Skywalker is a Jedi, Vader is a Sith. The two are mortal enemies; it's practically a law of nature!"

Luke had never really warmed to the older senator – too stiff and detached, too focused on the greater good instead of people, for his tastes – even if Leia considered her an honorary aunt; now, however, he thought he could see some of the appeal. General Madine, on the other hand, while not questioning the young Jedi's allegiance aloud, was a more worrying sight. The Alliance Chief of Intelligence was obviously thinking hard.

"Walk with me, Skywalker," the former commando leader asked curtly, when the meeting adjourned a short time later for a quick break for sustenance.

Leia was getting mobbed by a handful of former senators and Han was stationed staunchly at her back. Bereft of nearby reinforcements – and with no unsuspicious excuses in mind – Luke resignedly nodded assent.

He followed the older man briskly leading the way down an otherwise deserted corridor.

"Most of the recent defectors, they want a changed Empire, not a new Republic," Madine started quietly.

"And yet you let them join," Luke threw back and then, because getting hit over the head with plenty of nasty political implications had left _some_ impression, in the last couple of months, he added, "… did their goals match well enough to use them for cannon fodder until the Alliance had reached their own – or do they coincide with yours, by any chance?"

"Well done, kid," a Corellian drawl unexpectedly spoke up behind them, "you're learning."

The young Jedi had not appreciated how non-confrontational Madine had been so far, despite everything, until the startled ex-commando shifted his weight _just so_ and Luke could abruptly taste imminent death on the air. The smile on Jix's face, on the other hand, made the young man think of Krayt dragons again – and not necessarily a friendly one.

_Great. Just what we need._

"Oh stop it, you two!" Luke snapped. "Why is it, that the moment the Empire refuses to play anymore, we starting fighting _each other_?!"

Two pairs of eyes went to stare at him like he had grown a second head, but luckily the young rebel had gotten used to the feeling.

He turned a pointed look on his father's agent. "I try."

Then he shifted his focus back on the other ex-Imperial. "And I'm so sick and tired of people playing chess with other people's life – so what do you want, Madine?"

Blue eyes bored into his for a second longer, but then a slow smile was spreading across the older man's face, mirroring the one Jix had been wearing.

"Confirmation," the intelligence chief said ominously but then the smile turned a little less predatory. "The first thing I needed confirmed is that you aren't as naïve as is usually assumed. That's good."

A sharp nod. "Before I answer your previous question, though, tell me, what is _your_ take on our newest acquisitions?"

"They want a changed galaxy," Luke said bluntly. "They've seen the last of the old Republic and found it didn't work – Hells, _Han_'s seen the last of the Republic and he didn't like it either! – so the Empire looked like a good alternative to them – it might even have been true, for all I know, in the beginning – but then it didn't deliver on its promises, either; all they want now is a galaxy that's safe and not drowning in corruption – they don't care one whit what the person on top wears for a title!"

Another twofold stare. _The talent for_ _passionate speeches clearly went_ all_ Leia's way._

"A sentiment you share, obviously." Madine said slowly.

_Kriff!_ "Does it matter? As a Jedi, I shouldn't get involved with politics, anyway, should I?" Luke tried to deflect.

The smirk in reaction to _that _statement was worse than dragon teeth.

"On the contrary: the Republic was very fond of lightsaber diplomacy – the Jedi themselves called it _aggressive negotiations_, I believe – and I need not remind you what a useful tool the Emperor found in Vader. You are a living weapon, Skywalker, simply by being what you are, and weapons get used. You either keep up with politics and move on your own terms or _you_ will get used!"

In a rare display of mercy, the ex-commando let that sink in but didn't push any further.

"To answer your previous question: we are an _Alliance_," he said instead, looking suddenly tired, "a coalition of sometimes rather disparate groups; external pressure is a main factor in keeping it together.

Not the only one, I should hope, though," he went on, squaring his shoulders again, "but fear of the unknown is a bad advisor. It would be best if you did not rejoin us, Skywalker, until cooler heads have prevailed."

A curt nod of farewell at the young Jedi, a sidewise warning glare at Jix, and then Madine took his leave to return to the council chamber. The older man was halfway down the corridor before Luke realized that the intelligence chief had never given an answer to the very first of Luke's questions.

Which probably was an answer in and of itself.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The discussion raged on without Luke's further involvement, but at the end of the day, the grudging consensus was to take Lord Vader by his word and agree to a preliminary meeting.

After much deliberation, the decision fell for Dravian Starport as the meeting place, a lonely space station far off any inhabited systems; besides a moderate assembly of shipping companies, it was home to a number of casinos, hotels, and restaurants, making it something like Cloud City's less glamorous cousin – in fact, Lando Calrissian had been the one to throw the name into the ring (and would be the one to break the news to the local administrator). The station's remoteness would keep collateral damage to a minimum if things went sour and its obscureness had ensured that the Empire had never shown much interest in it, let alone established a substantial powerbase. All in all, the place was as close to neutral ground as one could get.

Leia would not be dissuaded from confronting the Sithlord; Madine apparently felt the need to evaluate the situation firsthand and Borsk Fey'lya would not stand back, either. In the worst of all worst case scenarios, that would leave Mon Mothma at the head of a command structure lead by the level-headed Ackbar and Riekan, plus the representatives of their more cautious allies. The young Jedi firmly convinced himself to take this for a silver lining.

Not that such a scenario was going to come to pass, anyway, if Luke had any say in it! Which he would, as being the Alliance's resident Force-user made him an integral part of the delegation, the Jedi counterweight to Vader's Sith.

One ship per faction was the agreed-on quota; it was generally assumed that Vader would take his flagship, which not only paid put to any notions about evening the scales by way of ambush, but made any attempt at meeting power with power ridiculous – fortunately _that _had never been a preferred Alliance tactic, anyway. In a compromise between dignity and caution – it wouldn't do to appear _too_ set on a speedy escape – a light cruiser would carry them all to the meeting place.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

To be safe rather than sorry, the Alliance made sure to arrive early. When the expected giant spearhead finally fell out of hyperspace, however, its odd appearance immediately drew the eye. The_ Lady_ was literally crawling with repair workers; whole swathes of her surface were a writhing mass of droids, reinforced by organic repair crews as soon as the reversion to realspace was complete, while in-between the blue-grey armor was mottled with large patches of raw durasteel. Despite the disconcerting look – "Whoa, that thing is as wriggly as a three days old bantha carcass!" "Thanks for _that _mental image, General!" – her shields were nonetheless at full strength, as the _Valiant_'s sensors reported.

After preliminary identifications had been exchanged, each capital ship disgorged a shuttle plus two fighters to carry the respective delegates to the station for the actual meeting. Luke wasn't sure of the exact diplomatic meaning behind the use of those two X-wings specifically, that were sporting a Death Star silhouette on their flanks, to fly escort for a supposedly peaceful meeting with Imperials, but dutiful kept his place at the shuttle's side.


	28. Contact

As the two groups approached the space station, the TIEs started to pull ahead of the Lambda shuttle, evidently intending to enter the station first. With a mental shrug, Luke signaled his wingman to follow his lead and did the same.

Accommodatingly, the largest hangar bay of the station had been decorated with a large Imperial Crest on one side and an Alliance Starbird on the other, clearly designating the respective landing places. For a pair of vessels lacking landing gear, the two TIE Interceptors came down smoothly. Not to be outdone, the two X-wing pilots did their best to execute a flawless, synchronized landing, too.

_Helmet off, life-support gear next, strip the suit to the waist and raise the canopy, wriggle out of the suit and step into proper boots, then slide down the ladder to the ground._ Loose-fitting flight-suits and long familiarity with the cramped interior of their fighters let the two Alliance pilots hit the ground in a respectable outfit in less time than it took the Imperials to shed their helmets and life-support and exit their ships, if not by much. There were tiny handholds worked into the struts supporting the dagger-shaped wings, Luke noted with interest _(or maybe regular features serving as improvised handholds),_ allowing the TIE pilots to work their way towards to the ground without jumping the entire distance.

While waiting next to their vessels for the respective shuttles to descend between them, the fighter pilots used the time to study their opposite numbers. One of the men in Imperial pilot-black was a non-descript, medium-sized man Luke thought he'd seen fleetingly in the _Lady_'s fighter bays; the tall, sharp-featured man on the other side, though, every fighter-crazy kid in the galaxy could have recognized: Baron Soontir Fel.

Luke shared a look with Wedge the moment before the rounded arrow-head of the MC-20 shuttle descended between them, with Han at the helm apparently dead set on setting down precisely in time with the Lambda. The following minute the young Jedi spent wondering why Fel had not only returned his scrutiny but turned an even longer considering look on the Corellian rebel pilot.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Further musings were cut short by the hiss of opening shuttle hatches. The rebels were exiting their ship rows of two, with Han behind Leia and Madine following the much shorter Bothan, and were joined at the bottom of the ramp by the two X-wing pilots plus General Calrissian and a pair of droids.

Lord Vader descended from his shuttle like a storm cloud, all billowing black, a quartet of high-ranking officers at his heels; the TIE pilots fell in smartly behind them once they'd reached solid ground.

A querying lick of flame brushed against Luke's mind – _Safe? Healed? Problems?_ – but barely awaited the answering thoughts before the official round of introductions began.

There was hardly any need to point out Luke, Leia, Han, and Calrissian to the Sithlord – or the latter to anyone else – but proper manners had to be obeyed and so those four were just as painstakingly introduced as were Madine, Fey'lya and Wedge, and likewise the six other Imperials Vader had brought with him.

Leia, Madine and Fey'lya were officially speaking for the Alliance High Command; while Han and Calrissian as generals and Luke and Wedge as highly decorated flight officers stood in for the Alliance troops. An uncharacteristically silent C3-PO (thanks to dire warnings that one wrong word might not only spell destruction for the garrulous droid but also for the galaxy's best and only chance at peace, voiced by at least three different sides and sufficiently in advance for Threepio to jabber himself through the first shock) was to take minutes while R2-D2 would "ensure privacy against uninvited parties – any objections?"

Lord Vader spoke for himself, obviously; while according to his curt address, two admirals represented the Imperial Navy, two generals the Army (the pilots didn't stand for anything but themselves if the name-and-station-only introduction was anything to go by, but at least Luke found out that the second one had earned himself the designation _Black Two, _which _was_ saying something!).

The young Jedi recognized exactly one of the flag officers by name and voice – Admiral Harrsk was a short, compact man with greying dark hair – the rest were unknowns. After a moment of irritation, the lack of familiar faces was only practical, though: the Sithlord was an unavoidable cause of offense, but to additionally bring along the _Butcher of Hoth_ for a first-time meeting might have left the wrong impression (provided the man was in any shape to follow the invite). Likewise, even Lord Vader might run into tough luck, presently, if he tried to convince his ship to let her admiral walk into danger without her. The local administrator-turned-not-quite-voluntary-host for the occasion was terrified enough without a 19 kilometer behemoth of a warship trying to crawl into his hangar bays.

When everyone was officially known to everyone else – no objections were voiced against R2's presence and indeed he was joined in his task by a mouse droid painted an unusual blue-grey – the two groups relocated to a lavishly – if a bit hastily – decorated meeting room deeper inside the station.

Further diplomatic niceties were exchanged, the status quo was set down in record, making the young Jedi wonder if such a tense meeting might actually get _dull_, contrary to all expectations, but of course, right after that thought, his father made things interesting again by throwing a handful of chips onto the table no one had known he had.

While digging through the wreckage for three days longer, the Imperial salvage crews had not only located plenty of dead bodies but also the rare additional survivor. Six of those had been Alliance personnel.

Lord Vader's offhand offer to return them, too, led the way to the first Alliance condition for a lasting peace: the release of _all_ captive rebels in Imperial custody.

An _exchange_ of all captured combatants was the counter-offer; given the number of Imperials gone MIA over the years and the amount of rescuees identified via their old military files, "it is evident that you have absorbed a substantial fraction of those into your own forces, over time. For those who saw no other alternative, for fear of being labelled _traitor _in any case, for their involuntary absence, it must be made clear that there will be no repercussions, for them _or their families_, if they return to their previous allegiance, now."

Leia and Fey'lya bristled – in the latter case, literally – but Madine, who'd left most of the preliminary speeches to the professional politicians, pronounced the amendment "reasonable."

Setting her jaw, the Alderaani princess questioned the emphasis on combatants and demanded a general amnesty for anyone arrested for _Sedition against the Empire_ and similar charges doled out in the wake of peaceful demonstrations.

An amnesty for peaceful protesters was immediately granted, but with the caveat that there would be no overall pardon for violent criminal acts. Leia sharply asked for a further specification and the gleaming black helmet turned slightly to the left.

"Admiral."

"Yes, milord." Admiral Harrsk, hardly slouching before, straightened further. He focused his all-around glower specifically on the princess.

"I have a brig full of pirates, partly caught red-handed while preying on civilian merchant ships, the rest when we captured their main base of operations," the greying man growled. "Will you claim them for your Alliance, too?"

For all his bluster, there was something mulish in the admiral's attitude, Luke thought. Like he really didn't want to give up his (likely hard-won) prisoners but expected to be overruled, a pawn sacrificed for the sake of compromise.

Leia's eyes narrowed.

"If piracy is what they did – no" she said coldly. "I am sure you have evidence against them that we might review independently?"

Something in her tone or her eyes must have struck a chord within the older admiral. He sounded much more agreeable when he said, "Certainly, ma'am."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

A pause for refreshments put an end to the discussion shortly afterwards and the two groups withdrew into separate side rooms. The moment the opposite side was out of sight and R2 had declared the room clear of listening devices, the diplomatic front of icy politeness fell apart.

While the representatives of High Command turned into a snarl of heated accusations of playing into the Empire's hands with unagreed-on concessions and just as searingly cold refutations, Han rolled his eyes, snatched a glass off the sideboard piled with refreshments and sauntered over to the panoramic window to admire the view.

Slightly wary of his own glass of something greenishly amber that Calrissian had pressed into his hand with the firm recommendation that he just _had_ to try it, Luke was about to follow his friend when he saw the Corellian suddenly stiffen, whirl and stalk over to the squabbling politicians.

"He's playing for time," Han said, butting in without any regard for the ongoing argument.

Fur rippling with irritation at being cut off in full flow, Fey'lya rounded on the former smuggler. "Do you have a point, General?"

"We were all wondering why he wanted to talk to us first, instead of moving on Coruscant as quickly as possible. I should have realized it lot sooner – I usually have a good eye for ships and that monster of his took a real beating at Endor, however that happened. If he'd turned up with her hanging all in tatters, the sharks calling themselves _Court _would have smelled blood and jumped him immediately. By waiting a few days to patch her up and paint over the patches, he can make an entrance that at least _looks _full strength – bet, it'll take a dockyard overhaul to really get her back into shape, though – and since he had time to kill anyway, he probably thought he could do something useful with it."

Still faced with stares of incomprehension, Han waved an impatient hand at the expanse of transparisteel behind him. "That's what they started doing right now: _painting the patches_. You don't waste time on that until you _want to look nice_!"

The use of _paint_ to avoid unnecessary violence had more Piett's hallmarks to it than his father's, and the young Jedi was pretty sure that his friend had Vader's priorities backwards – negotiations with the Alliance were going to take up some time so why not tidy up the _Lady_ in the meantime – but that sort of inside knowledge would only raise more awkward questions.

_And_, it was gratifying to see Han get the sort of considering looks that said _'huh, maybe he didn't make general solely for the fact that he's sleeping with a member of High Command'_.

Now that the Sithlord's reasoning about the timing had a logically sound explanation, the debate turned back at the issue of Vader's sincerity – or rather lack thereof if he was really just playing for time.

Previously content to simply listen, Wedge cleared his throat and put forward that, based on all previous experiences, Vader's idea of killing time in the presence of rebels would also kill said rebels, so there had to be more to it than that.

Luke was resigned to give another round of repetitive endorsement when Madine turned his attention on the young Jedi – and then blinked in surprise at the first question.

"Jedi Skywalker, your impressions on the men Vader has brought along?"

"They don't trust us," Luke replied, after a moment's consideration. "They trust Vader enough to hope he knows what he's doing, but they don't trust us to keep our word on anything we might decide here."

That answer brought him general attention. The intelligence chief was still quickest with the follow-up question.

"Because we are rebels?"

The young Jedi shook his head. "Because we agreed to these talks only because Vader had us at gunpoint at Endor, with a good chance to destroy us for good. And as with all gunpoint agreements, there's no reason to keep it once the immediate threat is removed."

Indignation and disbelief (more or less visibly expressed) greeted his statement and Luke hastened to explain further, "Well, that's what the left-hand general is thinking – he's the only one I could easily read. The rest has much better shields and if I tried to get anything but the most obvious surface feelings from them, they would probably notice – and Vader would _certainly_ notice."

**_Has_**_ noticed already, I expect, and probably chose to have the man along precisely for being easy to read_ was another thought that went unvoiced; it didn't keep distrust from briefly joining the disbelief but Madine nodded, satisfied.

"Anything else?"

Luke shrugged, out of immediately noteworthy information and his sister promptly cut in.

"They address him as _milord_," Leia said slowly – and the former farmboy knew, just _knew_, that this was going to be one of the details a princess noticed in her sleep while he wouldn't get the significance in a hundred years.

Fortunately, he wasn't the only one the comment left stumped.

"Meaning?" Han asked.

"Meaning he hasn't declared himself Emperor, yet, or they would go for _Your Majesty_."

The former smuggler shrugged, truly unconcerned or possibly playing devil's advocate, it was hard to tell with the man, sometimes. "Might be habit. I mean, he's been called a lord for the last two decades or so, maybe they aren't used to it yet."

Leia shook her head.

"No," she said with conviction. "If he'd assumed the rank, he would stand on the proper title – everything else would be a deliberate refusal to accept his new status, to his face and in public, too. For all his loathing for the court, Lord Vader knows the rules of the game well enough to nip that sort of dissent in the bud."

Fey'lya and Madine both nodded grudgingly. The Sithlord intended to secure Coruscant first, for a proper coronation in the capital, was the best explanation for the delayed ascension to the throne anyone could come up with before a soft chime announced the continuation of the main negotiations.

* * *

A/N: there is no MC-20 shuttle mentioned in canon; by usual Mon Calamari Shipyards nomenclature there should be one, though, given that the main product lines are all numbered with straight tens (MC-30, -40, …), with the bigger the ship, the bigger the number and there's a MC-**_24_** shuttle in the Legacy era.

A/N2: I honestly have no idea what Alliance High Command was thinking to make Han and Lando, of all people, generals, almost right after joining up officially. I know the EU says they earned it by some heroic action or other, but acting the hero does not necessarily qualify one for acting a general – and usually cheap encouragement is handed out in the form of medals, not promotions. My current theory is that they got their ranks right before Endor – and then embarrassed everyone by coming back alive (the _Falcon_'s mission is pretty much a classic Forlorn Hope's job and the strike team might have been considered not much better …).


	29. Offer

His sister had the training and the skills of a consummate diplomat – but she did not really have the temper for it. From what little he'd learned, Luke had to assume that said temper was not even exclusively a paternal heritage, and his admiration for the late Bail Organa rose with every occasion the young Jedi witnessed where her upbringing kept Leia's volatile disposition in check.

There were limits to the Alderaani's restraining influence, though.

The two deputations had barely settled back into their seats around the conference table when the princess decided to cut to the chase and look for answers about Lord Vader's intentions for the galaxy by questioning the man about them straight-out.

_So much like your mother…._ Luke had no idea how his sister could **_not _**hear the proud whisper resounding through the Force, but any musings on the topic came to a screeching halt a second later, when his – _their!_ – father set the nek among the banthas by offering to transfer political leadership to Leia, once things had settled down.

More than one jaw around the table literally dropped.

"You can't just give away the galaxy like some gaudy Life Day present!" Fey'lya sputtered in his first shock.

The black mask inclined slightly. "You propose that I keep it, then?"

"It was never yours to give away to begin with!" Leia snapped, joining her fellow Alliance representative in righteous indignation.

Silence stretched, just long enough to let it sink in that such statements might prompt the Sithlord _and _new head of the Empire into proving his claims more … _palpably_.

Luke might have gotten worried with the rest of the audience, if (a) someone else had taken on Lord Vader and (b) the dark flames had not been dancing with delight at his daughter's spiritedness, tinged with just the slightest hint of bittersweet memories.

"One could indeed argue the folly of pretending to own _stars_ until the same burn out," the Sithlord said gravely. "So, let me rephrase: I do have the means to control the main parts of the galaxy – and I am offering you the chance to make use of them."

Madine found the presence of mind to ask aloud what almost everybody must have been thinking. "With all due respect for Princess Organa – but why _her_?"

_Regret. Love. Making-things-right_ blazed like a solar flare for a moment. The mechanic baritone betrayed no emotion, though, when it stated flatly, "I know with absolute certainty just how unshakably she keeps to her principles."

Leia went ashy; Han's hand went for a blaster he wasn't wearing on a diplomatic mission; and Luke, despite knowing both the validity of the argument and the necessity of keeping the real reasons under wraps, tasted bile at the cruel reminder of just how the Sithlord had reached his assessment.

Less personally involved, both Madine and Fey'lya made ready to argue further – and abruptly shut their mouths when Lord Vader went on, tone dripping menace, "If anyone else here thinks they can match her credentials, let them step forward, now."

Open threats were a sound way to rekindle his sister's defiant spirit, fortunately.

"Why give up power, at all?" she challenged. "Why don't you simply take over as Emperor and keep things going as before?!"

_Old pain. Old regret. Not-making-the-same-mistake-twice._ "I know how to lead – but I have no idea how to govern."

Leia drew herself up, subconsciously drawing on the Force until conviction lent her a presence far beyond her physical stature, almost on par with the much larger Sithlord.

"I will **_NOT_** serve as a figurehead for your Empire!"

For a moment, the young Jedi was terrified of what the absolute and uncompromising rejection on her voice might provoke _– or destroy! – _inside their father, but quickly found that he needn't have worried.

_Fierce pride_. _Poignant remembrance. Your mother would have been so proud of you!_

"I have no need for a figurehead. But the galaxy has need of a head-of-state that will not fall to corruption from the power such a position brings with it." The vocoder swallowed any sentiment – if any had been expressed – but there was a hint of challenge on the deep mechanic voice now. And Skywalkers had a hard time **not **rising to a challenge, Luke could attest, both from personal experience and from his research about the aptly nicknamed _Hero-with-no-fear_.

For an endless second, Leia seemed ready to throw the gauntlet right back, Force roiling around her like a sandstorm front, nowhere near as defined and powerful as the black flames licking towards her (drawn by the tumult of conflicting emotions and yet not daring to touch), but undeniably _there_.

Then diplomatic training – or maybe princessly lessons of deportment – reasserted itself and allowed his sister to school her features into a cool, unreadable mask.

"And should I accept your generous offer, what role would you expect to play?" the former senator asked, "Grand Vizier, perhaps? Or would you rather be the shadow force _behind _the throne?!"

Six pairs of eyes stared at Leia, appalled by her escalating audacity – Luke didn't dare to avert his eyes and check how many more there were on his side of the table – the only relevant ones, however, were merely raising an amused eyebrow, by the feel of things.

"That smug snake Pestage _will _need replacing, true. But as I said, I am more suited for a … more active role."

The Alderaani princess bared teeth without bothering with the rest of a smile. "Such as Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces, I presume. And if I would rather disband the Imperial Forces, completely?"

The assorted Imperials went back to stone-faced and Luke felt, for the first time in the spirited argument, black flames grow slightly colder.

"That would be highly inadvisable." Lord Vader said coolly.

"Would it, now?" Leia shot back, latching onto the minimal show of emotion, "please do elaborate."

The gleaming helmet inclined marginally.

"Firstly, one of the main reasons why the Alliance has found such easy allies among various smuggler and pirate groups is – apart from their general mercenary nature – that you don't have the manpower to interfere much with their activities. You provided not only excellent diversions for the forces hunting them but also, in the event of your victory, they could expect more or less free reign.

Secondly, there are billions of men and women in the Imperial Forces, many of which do not have much in the way of civilian qualifications. If you were to turn them all out abruptly, I would expect the numbers of pirates and similar outlaws to multiply exponentially overnight."

There was an uncomfortable logic in that explanation. It had been a while since the galaxy had seen an army worth the hassle of disbanding, but whenever it _had_ happened, the results had not been pretty if done hastily, even Luke was aware of that. Judging by the silent glare that was the closest his sister ever came to admitting defeat, even a princess couldn't argue past historical precedent here, though.

This time, it was Borsk Fey'lya who picked up the flagging thread of conversation. Tone just barely clinging to civility by the skin of its teeth, he asked, "What would you do then, with such an oversized military in a galaxy that no longer is at war?"

The young Jedi felt a momentary spike of irritation at the intrusion, but then the black mask turned to answer the question.

"Hunt down pirates, slavers, spice-runners. Clean house in a way that has been neglected for far too long."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

There was little point in refusing the offer after that, but the Alliance party requested (and received) a short recess to discuss it privately.

The doors had barely closed behind them before Han rounded on the young Jedi. "Tell me he wasn't serious, tell me, Luke!"

"Oh, he was – wasn't he, Skywalker?" Madine rubbed a weary hand over his face before he turned at Leia, expression all but apologetic. "That offer fits his profile, he's the type to make command decisions based on personal impressions and apparently you _did _manage to impress him, personally, Your Highness."

Leia nodded jerkily, her glare had given way to an unsettlingly stony mask, sealing even the previous turmoil inside.

Disturbed by the lack of perceivable emotions – fury followed by unnerving tranquility set off all sort of alarms at the back of Luke's mind, these days – he almost missed the next question when the intelligence chief turned back at the young Jedi.

"What about his men? They sure looked surprised, too – were they really?"

"Yes," Luke answered slowly, he had been wondering how to put his readings into words but Madine had just taken care of the explanation. "Surprised by the actual act – oh yeah. Completely blindsided, by a move that's totally out-of-character for their Supreme Commander – not so much."

"And they _still_ trust him to know what he's doing?"

"Actually, … yes. Even more than before, I think." Now it was Luke's time to shrug apologetically at his sister. "It's the way you talked to that admiral, I guess. They… in their heads we stand for chaos, anarchy. They were surprised – but in a good way – when you showed them that laws were still laws for you."

"Justice – _true justice!_ – can hardly be in their interest! They must know that this would mean a war crimes trial for most of them, in the future."

It sounded like something Leia would say, but his sister was still wearing that stony face and it was Fey'lya who'd spoken the words. The Bothan representative had placed himself shoulder to shoulder with the Alderaani princess, opposite Madine, Luke and Wedge while Han had Leia's back and Calrissian kept to the sidelines.

_Maybe it was that neutral position that allowed for a clearer outlook, though._

"No." The baron-administrator-turned-general had lost all the charm but kept the persuasion in his voice. "The Emperor is dead; Tarkin is dead; Veers is dead. That'll have to do for a blood price."

"This is not about revenge!" Fey'lya hissed, "It's about …"

"… reality," Calrissian cut off the retort with an angry gesture. "We didn't win – Vader made peace with us. Vader who can do that because the other Imperials trust him to know what he's doing. If he loses that trust – or whatever it is he uses to keep his men in line, because a single man, no matter how powerful he is individually, cannot _force_ an entire military to follow his lead – well, that'll be _real _anarchy. The Empire will unravel and we'll have a horde of warlords on our hands with nothing to lose and everything to gain by acting as ruthless as they can!

We didn't win," he repeated more softly. "We hoped we could break their back at Endor but we didn't. So most of them will have a good chunk of fighting power with them – but never enough to rule the galaxy. So whatever they lose, they'll lose for good and …"

"Scorched earth," Han finished grimly. "If they can't have it, nobody shall. Happened often enough in the Separatist Wars."

"The entire point is moot." The Force was no longer ominously quiet around Leia, nor was it churning wildly; instead it hummed with a steady resolve and her face had thawed into the unyielding determination that had escaped the first Death Star, Hoth and Bespin without breaking.

Sidestepping deliberately, his sister moved away from the previous groupings until she was standing opposite to General Calrissian. "It is too good an opportunity to be true – but it is also too good an opportunity to pass on. We will take Lord Vader by his word – and then we'll see if his precondition of _'once things have settled down'_ will ever be met to his satisfaction."

Han rolled his eyes in clear disbelief.

"Yeah, right," he grumbled, "And be sure to ask for Coruscant on a silver platter, while you're at it."

The smirk on Leia's face gave Luke a horrible feeling of déjà-vu. "Oh, I certainly intend to."

* * *

Not sure how much I will get into the mood for galactic conquest over the holidays. In any case: Merry Christmas everyone!


	30. Accepted

To expect a few hours (or even a few days) worth of negotiations to end a civil war would have been wholly unreasonable and impractical. Consequently, the hopes set in this preliminary meeting had been to see if a more than temporary ceasefire could be achieved, that would allow for further discussions and those, hopefully, might in time lead to a set of security, political, economic etc. arrangements addressing the actual causes for the civil unrest-turned-rebellion.

But Lord Vader had never been one for playing by the rules. His father's unexpected offer had fast-forwarded straight across the usual sequence of events and his sister's offhand "I accept. The details we can discuss on Coruscant. When do you expect to arrive there?" had completely thrown them to the winds.

This time, it was surely more than six pairs of eyes that had stared at Leia in disbelief; once the first shock had faded, though, the not-so-easy-to-read general was suddenly looking like he was fighting the urge to shake his head with an incredulous grin. For some odd reason, Luke felt that Veers – the elder one – would have had pretty much the same reaction.

All humor went out of the situation the next moment, when the young Jedi remembered that Calrissian had listed General Veers as one of the deaths offered to appease those with major grievances against the Empire. _Blood price_, the ex-con man had called them, and while sentiments had settled down in the almost-year since Hoth, quite a number of people in the Alliance would probably press for that particular blood to _be_ spilled …

Luke shook himself out of the gloomy thoughts, that was a bridge to be crossed when they reached it. He made it back to the present in time to hear his father explain that he meant to descend on Imperial Center (_his exact words!_) in three days' time, a day and a week after Endor – and the Emperor's death. Not even Leia's dead-pan acceptance could stand up to the vocoder's salt-flat dry delivery when Lord Vader ended his speech with the polite inquiry if "maybe Princess Organa would care to be present for the occasion?"

Naturally, his sister would. There was no flippancy at all, however, in her counter-question about what kind of approach the Sithlord intended to use.

What kind of welcome did he expect – or in other words, _just how stable or prone to infighting, respectively, was the Empire right now?!_ – was probably the question the Imperials heard, along with most of the rebels, even.

What Leia _really _wanted to know, on the other hand, was if Vader would consider a burning city-planet an appropriate beacon to herald the beginning of his reign, Luke held no doubt on that. He made sure to echo the thought, as loudly as he could.

There was no visible sign of acknowledgement, but the black flames briefly brushed against his mind in wordless appreciativeness.

"Shock and awe," the mechanic baritone answered after a tense second of deliberation, "as it happens, I have one of the largest fleets ever assembled in one place at my disposal at the moment, and with that on display, _awe_ will hopefully keep the situation peaceful."

Eyes narrowed at the evasion, Leia shot back, "And if not?"

"If not, overwhelming strength should keep all altercations short and localized." Black flames flared, filling the room with undisputable certitude. "All-out resistance is not an option; significant resistance highly unlikely."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The rest of the meeting was mostly wrap-up. Leia's overly casual agreement was cast into proper diplomatic terms that boiled down to: no violent acts between both parties until further notice; should any violence happen in the meantime, the instigators would be automatically labeled renegade factions and exempt from any amnesty or further agreements; the aforementioned accord would go active on the third day, at 0000 Coruscanti time – after that point, ignorance would no longer serve as an excuse (and before that, only if verifiable). Once Coruscant was secured, a general prisoner exchange would take place, plus an amnesty for non-violent protesters and the like. Provided that no renegade factions of significant strength had arisen, Princess Organa would take on the role of head-of-state.

Luke would have expected a lot more quibbling over the text, and especially about the so far ill-defined rights and duties of a _'head-of-state'_; but Vader could dictate terms any way he liked without deferring to further inputs on his side, and the rest of the Alliance representatives seemed to be caught somewhere between dazed shock at the breakneck speed of the negotiations and a disbelieving _'let's grab what we've got and get out while the going is still good!' _

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

"Brentaal system, on the third, between midnight and 0100. Jump to these coordinates and make sure not to over-jump, traffic will be tight!"

That had been the curt description for the next meeting point. The invitation had been for Leia specifically, but at least the ship would be the same, the _Valiant_ had not even returned to the rest of the Alliance fleet, partly for a habitual paranoia of getting followed, partly because not quite three days would have been cutting it very close, to even reach them at their far-off-the-main-routes meeting point and then jump straight on, enroute to Brentaal.

So instead they had made their surreptitious way towards the Core (no need to invite trouble with any Imperials not yet up-to-date), with a longer stop after the second jump to discuss the recent developments with the rest of the Alliance High Command via a highly encrypted holocall.

Fey'lya had ranted a bit, but Luke thought the Bothan was more upset about the fact that no one had offered a galaxy to _him_, than having objective misgivings against the offered deal. Mon Mothma and most others had settled for a more or less openly skeptical _'we'll see how **that **plays out'_, modified only by Mothma's stern, "Be careful, Leia."

The only unexpected statement had been Admiral Ackbar's, "Meet me at Skako, I'll have to see that fleet of his for myself."

The Skako system had been the last stop before reaching Brentaal, there the _Valiant _had rendezvoused with another light cruiser and exchanged the Mon Calamari admiral for Borsk Fey'lya, the Bothan having decided that he didn't need to see such a massive Imperial force – and its welcome of unknown friendliness on Coruscant – firsthand.

Ackbar brought with him the news that as of two days ago, the wider galaxy had been informed about the Emperor's death. The publicized story was not even all that far from the truth: His Majesty had met his tragic fate when the main reactor powering the experimental space station he'd been inspecting had suffered a catastrophic runaway chain reaction. Luke's inner cynic promptly commented that in a most literal sense, with _when_ connecting actions happening in parallel, not cause and effect, it wasn't even a lie. Just the truth with large chunks missing.

The Emperor's right-hand man and anticipated successor, Lord Vader, the official story went on, was even now returning to the capital and expected to arrive there the next day. The news reports blaring all over the holonet made it sound like the Sithlord had simply been notified of Palpatine's death and was hurrying home at the news, but as several usually reliable sources had reported to the Alliance, Coruscant was humming with expectancy. No one really knew what Vader was planning but everyone was sure it would be … _big_.

Consequently, expectations were high when the _Valiant _neared the end of her last hyperspace jump and Captain Unak found his Bridge invaded by his entire contingent of passengers. While Ackbar made conversation with his fellow Mon Calamari in their native tongue, Leia was pacing the length of the room under the guise of chatting with the bridge crew at their stations, carefully – but independently – watched by Jix, Madine and Chewbacca. As far as Luke could tell, Calrissian was making an _earnest_ effort to chat up the lady at the comm station, goggly eyes, webbed hands and all. In hopes for another sort of distraction, the young Jedi had joined Han at the front window, together with Wedge and Zev, intent on getting his first impression of the situation the old-fashioned way.

The given coordinates brought the _Valiant_ to the outmost fringes of the Brentaal system and there to a point high above the planetary plane. As the first scan on reentry showed, over-jumping would have been indeed a very bad idea. The tactical display on the Bridge of the Mon Calamari cruiser lit up like a Winter Fete decoration, lights upon lights upon lights in a vaguely wedge-shaped arrangement.

After a split-second of hesitation – _the fleet at Endor had definitely been smaller!_ – Ackbar made the throaty, blubbering sound that was the Mon Calamari equivalent of a humph and leaned closer to the display to study the formation more in detail. The quartet around Han joined him half a minute later, frustrated by the fact that they had come out more or less at the same plane as the bulk of the waiting fleet and therefore could only see it sidewise.

The ex-smuggler took one good look at the display, tilted his head, reached over to tilt the displayed image at another angle and started to swear softly. "That crazy sonofa…"

Ackbar cleared his throat. "Something the matter, General?"

Han nodded slowly. He pointed at the drawn-out lines of lights. "That's a double veil, a butterfly veil, really."

Luke shared a questioning look with Wedge and got an equally puzzled shrug back. "Uh, Han, a bit more explanation … ?"

"It's a parade formation – one that most people don't bother with, because it's very nice to look at but needs so insanely close coordination that the only feasible way to do it is to slave all or at least most ships to the leader. Absolutely useless as a battle formation, much too tight, you'll just end up shooting each other."

"Yes, of course," Zev chimed in, sounding awed. "I've never seen it in real life, only in a projection at the Academy..."

The reverential expression morphed into a frown. "As far as I remember, it's meant for a wing of fighter craft following a single capital ship, though, not a whole fleet of capital ships!"

Han nodded grimly.

"Yeah," he said, tone grudgingly admiring, "that's what the handbook says – guess, Vader doesn't feel like playing by the book. And with that monster at the front, he can even pull it off without looking ridiculous."

Any further discussions were cut short by an incoming hail. "Unknown cruiser, please identify."

The _Valiant'_s Captain exchanged a short look with Leia and Ackbar and, when both had nodded, responded. "This is the _Valiant_, carrying Princess Organa."

_"_Acknowledged, _Valiant_. Do you wish to join the formation?"

Captain Unak had not participated in the earlier discussion, but he had certainly listened. "Please clarify: what would joining the formation entail?"

A moment's pause, and then a different voice took over._ "Valiant_, this is Admiral Piett. For the duration of this run, the entire formation will cede navigational control to the SSD _Executor_."

_Told you so_, Han mouthed, while Leia, Madine, Ackbar and Unak all frowned at the prospect. The former moved to reply herself. "And if we do not wish to slave our ship to yours, Admiral?"

"My apologies, ma'am, but we cannot have a free-floating ship in this type of formation. Feel free to move to Imperial Center on your own – if you jump now, you might just make it before the traffic ban in preparation for the inaugural parade starts. Otherwise you'll have to wait until two hours afterwards. Alternatively, we can carry you."

"Carry us?" Cpt. Unak echoed, tone somewhere between incredulous and intrigued. At several hundred meters length, the MC-40 class usually counted as a _carrier_, not the _carriee_.

"Yes, Captain," Piett answered, and Luke could all but_ see_ the man quirk his lips with amusement, "with a little more time we could fit you into a hangar, but for now we can certainly lock you against the surface."

To move to Coruscant on their own would ban them to a distant observer's role at the sidelines – which was _not_ what Leia was here for, neither in her own intentions, nor (the young Jedi suspected) in their father's. To give an Imperial in-depth access into an Alliance control system, on the other hand, was worse than simply putting the ship at risk, any more than they already had.

"Let's hitch a ride," Han paraphrased the only remaining option.

At the edge of hearing, Luke caught his sister mutter a nonsensical "With the rest of the garbage," earning herself a knowing smirk from the ex-smuggler and that in turn enkindled a small smile in Leia's face.

"General Solo is right," she said more loudly, "under the circumstances, that is the most sensible option."

Meeting no immediate protests, she turned back at the comm, affecting her most primly princessly voice. "Admiral, we'll take you up on that offered ride …"


	31. Entrance

Surrounded as they were by the elite of the Imperial fleets, Captain and crew of the _Valiant _had taken it as a point of honor to weave through the crisscrossing mass of warships with perfect poise, deviating not a millimeter from the assigned flight path. Once they'd reached a position right above the super star destroyer at the very front of the formation and within reach of her tractor beams, the light cruiser had cut her engines and surrendered herself to the tug of the beams.

Some delicate maneuvering later, over a dozen tractor beams held the _Valiant_ securely in position, about a hundred meters above the _Lady_'s town-sized (and even vaguely town-shaped, in Luke's opinion) dorsal over-structure, about halfway down her length. When questioned, Cpt. Unak seemed cautiously optimistic that his ship could take out enough beam projectors in one concerted volley to tear loose if they absolutely needed to. When Madine kept asking, in the same _just politely interested_ tone, how he gauged their chances of actually escaping the reach of the super star destroyer in one flight-worthy piece, the Captain rolled his eyes – always an impressive expression, coming from a Mon Calamari – and said, gurgling accent more pronounced than usual, "Foam on the waves."

No one on the Bridge felt the need to ask for an explanation of the idiom.

So, next they waited, and waited, and waited while the Imperials put the finishing touches to their formation. Luke used the time to send a quick _'Hello'_ at his father, but feeling the latter's preoccupation with the ongoing preparations, limited himself to a quick _'I'm fine, Leia's fine. How are you?'_ Perhaps predictably, the answer was _'Fine'_ before the black flames swept out across the fleet again, searching for things going awry and spreading conviction.

Jix lasted for less than ten minutes of inaction before he hacked himself into the Brentaal satellite network and fished for news, official or otherwise – not that anyone but the most official news channels dared to show themselves, with Lord Vader's humungous fleet hanging over them. Coruscant – and staring at Coruscant, the rest of the galaxy – was waiting on tenterhooks for the Sithlord's great entrance, but without officially released information except for the starting time at 0900 Imperial Standard Time, reporters could only speculate on what would happen. To be on the safe side, most didn't even try and instead sought to while away the time by running biopic over biopic about the late Emperor – and if they were feeling particularly daring, about whom they assumed would be the new one.

In an abstract sort of way, the young Jedi found it quite interesting, even if the amount of glorification for Palpatine was rather obnoxious; Han, on the other hand, gave up the pretense of interest after maybe fifteen minutes and sauntered back to the comm station, to ask the _Executor_ (in a uncharacteristically formal way) what the expected time of departure would be; once informed that it would be a few hours still, he next asked if there was any way to get a small ship cleared to move through the fleet.

That question took a little longer to get an answer, but just when Luke was starting to debate if a mental message of _'I'm bored, Father, can I go for a ride?'_, would make him come across as childish, Admiral Piett returned to the comm and granted the permission, "for your ship, I presume, Captain Solo? We'll send you a temporary identification code, make sure to broadcast it continuously."

The ex-smuggler grinned – and was still grinning audibly when he replied, "Will do, Admiral. Thanks and out."

R2, who at some point in the last hour had sneaked up to the comm station and jacked himself in, tweeted affirmatively a few seconds later, removed himself from the terminal and rolled towards the exit.

Han held out his arm towards Leia with exaggerated courtesy. "Feeling a jaunt around the premises, Your Highnessness?"

Leia rolled her eyes and swatted at the arm but allowed herself to be lead towards the _Falcon_, while Luke and Wedge, Zev and Jix followed eagerly. Chewie was already striding down the corridor next to the astromech, the rest preferred to spend the waiting time with something else than sightseeing, to quote Madine.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The _Falcon_ was resting in a side-hangar rather close to the _Valiant_'s Bridge, a safety measure Han had absolutely insisted on, once Leia had agreed on meeting Vader. Now, hangar doors opening along the flanks of the cruiser meant that they did not have to squeeze through between the two capital ships.

Instead of diving right into the Imperial fleet, as Luke had halfway expected, the ex-smuggler steered the _Falcon_ high above the super star destroyer, first, to get a good view of the _'veils'_.

They had barely cleared the height of the command tower, though, when it became obvious that the _Falcon_ had acquired her own private train. The pair of TIE Interceptors wasn't acting aggressively, but they trailed after the modified freighter at a constant distance, like heeling dogs.

Scowlingly, Han reached for the comm. "_Millennium Falcon_ to Interceptors, why are you following us?"

"Orders, sir." Under the metallic distortion of the helmet, the voice was carefully blank. Wedge took notice nonetheless.

"Fel," he said softly, while Han growled, "What orders?!"

Luke nodded slightly. He had not heard the Imperial ace speak enough to immediately identify him, but he remembered that the Rogues had worked with him at the wreckage of the Death Star, and so his fellow X-wing pilot would recognize the filtered voice.

Fel could have played dumb cog in the machine and ignored the reply, but perhaps he had acquired a taste for the rebels' more straightforward style of communications at Endor. "I have strict orders, sir, to _'give that disreputable clump of scrap metal some semblance of respectability'_. Those were the exact words. Sir."

While the _Falcon_'s pilot did a brief impression of a gulley fish at this insult to his beloved ship, Chewie rumbled something that sounded more amused than enraged and Jix sniggered openly. Even Leia gave a tiny smile before she leaned forward.

"Colonel Fel, please convey my appreciation for his forethought to whoever gave you that order. Who was it, by the way?"

For a moment there was only the soft whisper of empty comm lines before the Imperial replied, tone back to perfect blankness, "My commander, ma'am."

While Leia sat back with a thoughtful frown, Han huffed something like "I'll show 'em scrap metal!" and sent the _Falcon_ into a wide loop around the carefully arranged – and still arranging – fleet (faithfully shadowed by the Interceptors, of course).

The special point about the formation wasn't just that it _did_ look a little like trailing veils, the young Jedi decided, but that it did so _from all angles_.

Two Imperial class stardestroyers had moved into position exactly at the height of the _Lady_'s stern and a kilometer to each side. About two kilometers behind those, four Victories formed the starting points of four trailing chains of stardestroyers (about two Imperials for every Victory, spread evenly and symmetrically throughout the formation), each two kilometers behind, one above or below and one to the side of its predecessor. At the third ship, the line split again, and while the outer rows followed the previous pattern, the inner ones moved back together, until the four of them met in a single ship, again on the same plane and straight behind the _Lady_. Behind that one however, the four lines went on towards the outer lines again, to meet another string of ships split off at the sixth-in-line of the main chains, which repeated the pattern and passed through each other at a single ship again, until they finally merged into the outer lines again. The overall result was a bit like three-dimensional lace, done in pale durasteel and ion fire.

Most ships were already at their positions, but a few evidently not yet _exactly_ where they were supposed to be. One Imperial in particular was weaving back and forth, obviously not quite getting where it wanted to.

"Engine damage," Zev commented after watching the struggling ship for a few moments, "must have lost one of the outer ones – she's listing."

"Yeah, but here at the start of the inner lines, you can hide small irregularities." Han dipped the _Falcon_ into a sharp dive into the heart of the formation. "See that ship at the point where the lines cross? They're called the _Pins_ and if you don't keep _them_ in position perfectly, the whole thing will look skewed, no matter how precise the rest of the formation."

"A very responsible position, then, isn't it?" Leia asked pensively. "Does anyone recognize the ship?"

No one could immediately give a positive answer, even if Wedge volunteered a "Pretty sure I remember that one from Endor …", and so the _Falcon_ swerved for a pass near the base of the command tower, to have a look at the distinct markings there.

The identification code was underlain with a swirling spiral pattern, like a stylized whirlpool. Hazy memory stirred.

"_Whirlwind_," Luke said slowly. "I think this is Admiral Harrsk's ship."

"Ah. That would make sense," was Leia's only comment, before she went back to her thoughtful silence.

They paid a visit to the other _'Pin'_, too – easily identified by the chimera emblem – and then slowly meandered back towards the _Lady_ and the piggybacking cruiser. The TIEs followed them until they were atop the super star destroyer, then made good use of their superior overall speed to overshoot the _Falcon_ with insolent ease (possibly in slight retaliation for Han's tendency to pass as closely to the engine wash of stardestroyers as he could, which had forced the TIEs – lacking both the size and more importantly the shielding of the larger ship – to evade), waggled their wings and peeled away towards their own hangars.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

By the time they returned to the _Valiant_'s Bridge, Clarissian had opened an impromptu Sabbacc table that helped to kill time until Admiral Piett started, on a channel open to the entire fleet, to request a status report for each and every ship in the formation. The fact that it took over twenty minutes to get his _'XXX is ready for light-speed'_ from all of them, only served to emphasize again just how many ships Vader had drawn into his _'veils'_.

Once the admiral had received a satisfactory report by the entire fleet, the _Lady's _idling engines came back to life. As the inertial dampeners of the _Valiant _could only react, not anticipate the move as with her own engines, there was a noticeable jolt when the super star destroyer began to build up momentum. Like pearls threaded on invisible strings, the rest of the formation followed the lead ship in perfect synchronization as she swung around in a wide curve to align herself with the jump vector for Coruscant, accelerated to full power and soared into hyperspace.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The space segment closest to the start of the Perlemian Route had been cleared of all traffic hours ago. The outer planets of the Coruscant system were currently at points of their orbits that didn't intersect with the ancient hyperroute, but common sense still dictated that incoming traffic reverted to realspace at the outer fringes of the system. A couple of years later, Muscave would have been in for a rude awakening, given that a massive fleet of ships slid out of hyperspace right across the gas giant's orbit.

While the sensor arrays of the home defense fleet blared in alarm, the traffic observation satellites made available to the Holonet reporters for the occasion started to release their first images and the media went wild. Luke had no idea what Jix had done to get into the news coverage practically the second they had returned to realspace, but he had to admit that the sight of the incoming fleet getting closer and closer to one of the satellites, then moving past another at a different angle and so forth, was impressive. The sight became even more striking when, what appeared like the entire contingent of TIEs the fleet possessed, streamed from their mother ships and moved to fill the gaps between the destroyers, accenting the original lacework with strings of tiny beads in steel and jet. Now the _Lady _was really trailing an intricate train of veils, done in the style that suited her best.

By the time the super star destroyer had reached Coruscant's orbit and adjusted her course to catch up with the planet, the various journalists had worked themselves – and significant parts of the viewers, if the frequent pans across various plazas featuring gigantic public screens was anything to go by – into a frenzy.

By the time the fleet swung around once more, to assume orbit around the city-planet, even the soldiers lining said plazas, officers and stormtroopers alike, were staring mesmerized at the screens. High above the Manarai Mountains, green fire was dancing through the sky.

The Home Defense Fleet of Imperial Center had arrayed themselves into a wide crescent in front of their planet. As the _Lady_ serenely advanced towards them, the centermost stardestroyer flared her turbolasers in salute, releasing the energized plasma not in coherent bolts but a long flame-like tongue of rapidly dispersing ionized gas. One by one the rest of the defense fleet followed suit, before the crescent split down the middle and cleared the way for the incoming fleet. The moment Lord Vader's flagship went past the flagship of the home defense fleet, the _Lady_ and her train returned the greeting in kind, flaring their batteries in unison.

The young Jedi had already had the dubious pleasure of experiencing the full firepower of the super star destroyer going off all around him. The rest of the occupants of the _Valiant_'s Bridge stared wide-eyed at green fire streaming out along the whole length of the gigantic ship, surrounding the piggybacking cruiser with a solid wall of glowing plasma.

"I thought," Wedge started hoarsely, cleared his throat and went on, "I thought, you'd said the formation is too tight, you can't fire without hitting the rest of your ships."

"If the plasma went any further, yeah, you would. But if you just _flare_ your guns … " Han shrugged. "Didn't know you could do that, either, but it makes sense, I guess."

Salmon skin tinted an unhealthy olive-green by the green glow, Adm. Ackbar nonetheless proved his presence of mind when he commented, "Perfect timing, throughout the whole formation – they must have slaved not only navigation, but also fire control to the _Executor_."

There was barely time to contemplate the unsettling implications of that much firepower under literally **_one_** command, before the next round of salutes was exchanged, less than two minutes later. The _Lady_ had just entered into a leisurely circuit around the equatorial plane, when the nearest Golan Station flared its turbolasers, too, starting with the pair of cannons furthest from the incoming fleet – _avoids awkward misunderstandings_, Zev quickly whispered at Luke's confused look. When the pair closest to the fleet were finished, Lord Vader's fleet again returned the salute.

The same ceremony was repeated again and again, all around the planet; and if not all of the defense stations reacted with the same alacrity – well, Luke was sure his father had noticed, too, but the public didn't seem to and at least they were not firing for real. They wouldn't have stood much of a chance but the Golans were massive brutes, they could have done some serious damage before going down.

Case in point, Captain Unak – as resource-strapped as any warship captain in the Alliance – was looking a little pinched as a small battle's worth of Tibanna went up for show in each salute.

Others were scowling for another reason. "The recruiting bureaus are going to be _swamped_, come morning," Madine said, a touch resentfully, "what youngster wouldn't want to be a part of _that_?"

The ex-commando was most likely right, the young Jedi suspected, especially since the more respectable sort of reporters had gotten over their first shock and were now waxing poetically about each and every ship in the parading fleet, what battles she had participated in, what special accomplishments she had achieved, who was in command (and what had _they_ done with their lives, so far) … etc., etc. Luke was still close enough to the farmboy yearning to get off his sorry rock in the armpit of the galaxy to appreciate the appeal.

It was approaching 1200 Imperial Standard Time (or noon above the Imperial Palace) when the _Lady _had finally completed her circuit and came to a stop right on top of the palace district, prow pointing towards the planet. In a final act of perfect synchronicity, the veils swung out like unfolding wings until the entire fleet was arrayed to both sides of the flagship, all sharing the same orientation towards the planetary surface.

* * *

A/N: Han and Fel knew each other at the Academy, though they were too different in temper to be friends – and too alike in outstanding skill not to be rivals, I imagine. Might explain _some_ of the interactions … ;)

A/N2: the idea that stardestroyers have tail markings is borrowed from _I.M.P.S. The Relentless_ – if you don't know what that is, google it, it's **fantastic** fanart! Even if you don't care for the stories, the visuals alone are incredible (also featuring nose art on AT-ATs, among other things ;).

A/N3: I'm dismissing the _Guardian_ here (and by the same token the _Terror, Vengeance_, etc.); I like the _Lady_ the way she is – one of a kind – and won't have a whole flock of super star destroyers (dreadnoughts) floating through my corner of the galaxy.


	32. Welcome

The _Lady _had barely come to rest at her new parking position, when the _Valiant_ was hailed.

"Princess Organa," Lord Vader's distinct mechanic baritone sounded from the comm, "would you care to accompany me to the Imperial Palace?"

All eyes on the Bridge turned towards the Alderaani princess.

There was only a split-second of hesitation and nothing but the clipped precision of the trained orator on her voice when Leia went to reply, "Whenever you are ready, Lord Vader."

"Good. Await my shuttle in fifteen minutes time."

"_Await my shuttle in fifteen minutes time_." Han echoed acerbically, "Tell you what, Leia, when His Lordshipness offers to buy you a drink, you say 'No'!"

Jix choked on air, Luke felt slightly ill for a moment. Han didn't mean it, he knew that, but the mere thought of Vader trying to seduce his own daughter … _Ugh. A thousand times worse than getting kissed by her in ignorance._

Fortunately, his sister seemed to feel pretty much the same way.

"That, General Solo, was uncalled for!" she said scathingly, then turned on her heel and stormed off the Bridge before Han could do more than raise his hands in supplication.

"And just when I was starting to think that you might actually have a brain, Solo," Madine said with a disappointed shake of the head.

"What are you waiting for; man?!" the ex-commando snapped next, "Go after her!"

He didn't pause to see if the Corellian would start moving but turned at the young Jedi immediately. "You, too, Skywalker. That wasn't a group invitation, but the princess is **_not_** going alone!"

Luke was almost out of the door when he heard the older man mutter, "For all the good it'll do …"

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A former farmboy had no idea what sort of dress code would be appropriate for the Imperial Palace, so Luke simply went with the unadorned, black approximate-Jedi garb he was already wearing (it wasn't like he could ruin any first impressions with the landlord, anyway). Leia had opted to put on the same (_kind of?)_ smooth white robes for the parade as she'd worn for the negotiations and Han had followed suit, with a close-fitting black jacket over black trousers bearing the Corellian Bloodstripe. Since Leia had kept herself busy during the time in hyperspace by braiding her hair into some complicated-looking crown, they were all set, as far as the young Jedi could tell.

Black, black and white – they were a little monochromatic, Luke realized as they all stood together in the hangar holding the _Falcon_ to wait for the promised shuttle. _Oh well, at least we'll fit in right with the Imperial color scheme. With a little luck, no one will take notice that we're not on the same team._

The Lambda shuttle arrived, punctual to the second, and had hardly touched the hangar floor before the ramp descended.

When the vapors had dissipated, Luke had an odd sort of déjà-vu at the sight of his father, one arm outstretched invitingly. As much as the young Jedi would have liked to deny it, but the situations were none too dissimilar, in some aspects.

The sight of his sister marching forward determinedly, banished the unwelcome memory. Every inch the decorous princess, she inclined her head regally at the greeting bow and graciously accepted the assisting hand to lead her up the ramp. Luke and Han were left to scramble after her with only a fraction of her dignity. Inside the shuttle, the trio found themselves the only occupants out of armor which said a lot, the young Jedi thought, about the sort of welcome their father expected.

Lord Vader guided Leia to a seat and disappeared into the cockpit. Luke wished he could do the same – the act of taking control of _something _would have done wonders for his nerves. He had just nodded along to Han's mutter of "I have a bad feeling about this," when black flames wrapped around him, fierce and warm and full of conviction, strong enough to halt the suns on their way across the sky.

_Nothing will happen to you – both of you!_ they crooned and the young Jedi couldn't help but feel some of the conviction seep into his mind, too.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Later, Luke would learn that the fleet's thousands of TIE fighters had escorted the shuttle down in a solid wreath of metal before bursting apart in a stylized Imperial Crest that spread across the entire district. For now he had only eyes for the sprawling moloch looming beneath them. The courtyard they eventually made for, inside the outer walls but barely more than a niche at the flank of the main building, was paved a deep crimson red, interrupted only by some pale, geometrically arranged lines.

Except it wasn't, the young Jedi realized on the last few dozen meters, it was simply filled to the brim with Red Guards. Thousands of them, by a quick guestimate.

Painful memories started to strip away the borrowed confidence.

_They have been indoctrinated too well,_ his father's mental voice told him promptly, _and so the Emperor's death has left them cast adrift. If given a clear target, they would have fought to the last breath to avenge him, but now …_

Dark satisfaction tinted the next words. _Now they will latch onto anyone who will stand in for the post convincingly – something that none of the Cabal has managed to achieve thus far._

While the Lambda made for a raised dais and finally came to a rest on it, cockpit – and therefore landing ramp – facing towards the palace, Luke cautiously stretched his senses. Where the officers near Palpatine had suffered dazed confusion at the latter's death, these Guards felt … _empty_ in the Force. _Indoctrination didn't really cut it, if this was the result!_

The young Jedi was startled back to the present when Han pressed a small, sleek comlink into his hand.

"To keep up with the situation," the ex-smuggler said, gesturing vaguely at one of the white-armored men surrounding them.

Luke had scarcely nodded when his father came striding from the cockpit, about a second before the exit ramp started to descend.

"No one leaves the shuttle until I give the word," Lord Vader ordered and was gone in a swirl of black and vapors.

When the noxious fumes had dissipated, the Sithlord was standing at the edge of the dais, atop a wide set of stairs, and the young Jedi could feel the black flames blaze into a wave that engulfed the whole courtyard. In one uniform movement, the entire sea of red went down on one knee, heads bowed, an imposing if somewhat unsettling show of fealty.

_MINE!_ the black flames roared, and as much as the possessiveness in that shout disturbed Luke, he could all but feel the weight of a code cylinder settling into his hand. _The most valuable thing … _

In any case, the young Jedi told himself sternly, the flames licking over them filled the unnatural emptiness with new life and purpose and that had to be a good thing. _Right?!_

A curt "Come!" from the comlink cut through his deliberations. Leia was flowing down the ramp like she had done this a thousand times before – she might have, for all Luke knew – while Han followed with a more measured tread and her brother hurried to do the same. The white-armored men fell in step behind them.

When they had all reached solid ground, Lord Vader raised one hand imperiously and the Red Guards came back to their feet with the same fluid grace as they had knelt.

There were some grey-uniformed men standing between the squares of Guards, the young Jedi noticed belatedly once his father had started to descend down the marble steps. Next to the hollowed-out shells of the Red Guards, _they_ felt comfortingly normal – familiar, even: Luke had not thought that he would ever be relieved to sense the cloying sort of fear most people experienced when faced with a Sithlord of unknown mood and intentions bearing down on them, but under the circumstances it was a reassuringly human reaction.

The sole exception was the officer positioned a few step in front of the others. The young Jedi had never before met a creature as resigned to death as this man.

_General Ashen_, his father answered the unspoken question, _he is Commander of the Palace Forces, which means he is responsible for the Emperor's safety – and the Emperor is dead._

Before Luke could protest that Palpatine had died more than half a galaxy away from his palace and in a way that was hardly this man's fault, a fierce soprano beat him to the punch.

"I recognize a person awaiting execution when I see them," Leia said sharply. "Who is this man?"

At the foot of the dais, Lord Vader half-turned to address the woman standing a few steps further up. "Princess Organa, allow me to present General Ashen, Commander of the Palace Forces."

"I see."

And a princess probably _did _see, without any additional explanations. Leia's eyes narrowed and Luke could feel the Alderaani urge to fight injustice rise like a waking dragon, almost against her will.

In a flurry of white fabric, the princess had cleared the rest of the steps and moved past the Sithlord, placing herself between the black-armored giant and the general.

"Indulge my curiosity, General Ashen: just how would you have stopped a runaway hypermatter reactor, more than half a galaxy away?"

Whatever dire fate the man had been expecting, a tongue-lashing by a petite young woman in white had not been part of it. Ashen stared at her blankly.

"I thought so," Leia said archly and turned to raise challenging eyes at the Sithlord.

"Lord Vader, maybe you …" she started and then the Force screamed and there was a whirl of black armor-weave when the Sithlord swept his daughter behind his body and snatched a laser bolt from the air with the other hand.

Things happened more or less simultaneously afterwards.

Ashen barked some orders that made the sea of red robes and armor surge into a tight cordon around Lord Vader, perceived lack of future prospects apparently overridden by habitual duty.

Han caught Leia when she was shoved towards the stairs and almost found himself dogpiled the next moment when the Sithlord thundered, "You will protect her with your life!", not addressing anyone in particular but with a voice so full of command that every man within a ten-step radius jumped to obey.

The ex-smuggler swore, loudly and colorfully in at least three different languages. "I have it, I have it, give us some breathing space!"

The solid wall of red and white armor reacted as much as walls are usually wont to do, when shouted at.

Shoved aside in the first onrush, as he had wavered for a second between father and sister – there had been no way to tell if the shot had been aimed at Leia's head or Vader's chest, and while the black flames had instantaneously surged into a solid wall around his children, Luke could detect no such defenses around his father! – the young Jedi decided that his sister (and his friend) were as safe as could be under the circumstances.

Further tendrils of flame were scouring the turret-studded, arcade-covered façade for the sniper but apparently without success so far, since the Sithlord turned to stalk towards the overloaded building, pace provokingly,_ invitingly_ slow, by his usual standards.

"Where did that shot come from?!" he snarled and it took Luke a moment to realize, while he hurried after his father, that the odd resonance meant that he could hear the words only via the comlink.

"Twelfth to sixteen's level, near the third tower to the northeast," a gravelly voice replied, "outside observation does not allow for a more precise location."

"The shekhar'ar'naz is right, Lord," an even rougher, clearly non-human voice added, the strong deference in its tone only serving to emphasize the fact that the first speaker hadn't bothered with any kind of honorific, "shall we move in closer?"

"No," was the curt answer, "stay where you are."

_The shooter is quite adept at hiding himself in the Force,_ Vader commented when his son reached him, _one of the Emperor's Hands, no doubt._

_You expected …_ _a welcome of this kind, _the young Jedi gave back, trying hard not to sound accusing even in a mental contact.

_I did, indeed, _his father admitted,_ it was O… _**Leia**_'s intervention, that caught me by surprise._

_She is like that, _Luke warned,_ the fastest way to get her mad at you is to attack someone unfairly in her presence. And once she's '_on a mission'_, there is no stopping her._

_What's a _Hand_? _he added as an afterthought.

_A force-sensitive agent of the Emperor, given rudimentary training and the inspirational notion to be the only one of his or her kind – which is decidedly untrue, the Emperor had more _'Hands'_ than a lady-Besalisk._

The young Jedi nearly snorted at the mental image and then brought himself up short when, what he had taken for just another part of the elaborate stonework, slowly started to part into the largest set of door wings Luke had ever seen in his life. An AT-AT could have marched through them without ducking.

_Scratch that, if _half a dozen _of them walked through that doorway side by side, the _Falcon _could do a barrel-roll on top of them with room to spare!_

Lord Vader made a sweeping gesture towards the gigantic entryway.

"Welcome to the Imperial Palace," he said and if there was any sarcasm on his tone, the vocoder swallowed it.

* * *

A/N: I know a really nice guy who cuts a splendid figure in the garb of the Red Guards, so no offense was meant for his virtual comrades. But if I were the Emperor of a somewhat unruly galaxy, I would make damn sure my personal bodyguards wouldn't even think about betraying me. And if I had Palpatine's vast powers at my disposal, that would be _literally_ true ….

(On a related note, if I wanted to assassinate Lord Vader and couldn't get my hands on an area effect (like, say, orbital bombardment), a sniper rifle and **plenty** of distance would be my preferred method ….)

A/N2: Luke knows hangar doors that are wider than this entrance to the palace (a mere side door, I assure you ;), but there is a difference between a large open space fenced off by an energy field and actual door wings attached to a building …


	33. Council

The hallway beyond the enormous door was just as grandiose, the vaulted ceiling several tens of meters above their heads and the marble floor wide enough for the Red Guards to march twenty abreast and still keep at least that much distance from the walls. It seemed to stretch on for kilometers, but Lord Vader had hardly stepped across the threshold before he announced, "Inform the Council that I will meet them in the Dawn Room in twenty minutes."

The Guard closest to his right bowed silently and weaved through his brethren to relay the message, but the Sithlord swept on so swiftly that Luke had no chance to see how. _Or to whom._

_Pestage_ was pretty much the only name that immediately came to mind, and possibly _Dangor_, though the latter might be just a sort of glorified press spokesman, for all the young rebel knew.

They were about two hundred meters down the hall when his father told him, _Your sister has followed us. Ask her if she knows where the Tower of Dawn Contemplation is – I will meet with the Imperial Ruling Council in the main chamber on the twenty-first level. Under the circumstances I do not intend to present the two of you directly, but there is a hidden observer gallery, accessible from the twentieth level. Ashen knows where the entrance is and the Force will allow you to enter._

Common sense made the young Jedi swallow his first indignant reaction and simply nod. He might not like getting relegated to observer status and lurking in the shadows, but he had virtually no experience with palace intrigues and it wasn't like his father couldn't hold his own.

Luke slowed his steps and turned, just in time to face the first line of guards stepping around him, and let the cordon flow past him. Then he jogged back to the lump of red and white armor that was about to enter through the door.

"I know where the tower is but I have not been to the Dawn Room itself," Leia said curtly when her brother relayed his message and turned towards the local general to discuss the best route. The way how both the princess and the men around her seemed to take for granted that she was in command, made the young Jedi wonder how long they would have until someone who knew the Sithlord well enough figured out the family resemblance.

Han must have read the apprehension off his face and misinterpreted it. He shifted his position until he was between the two siblings and could whisper to Luke while still keeping Leia in sight from the corners of his eyes.

"She's not so happy with you, right now," the ex-smuggler said bluntly, "Took her less than a minute to realize that you'd gone after Vader – not that _I_'d blame you, we can't afford to lose the one guy who seems to have something of a grip on this madhouse – but she didn't like that you'd gone off alone, **_again_**. The shape you were in, the last time you came back from your solo trip …."

An eloquent shrug. "So she decided to go after you. Just got up and said _'Stand aside'_ with so much conviction on her tone that the command would be followed immediately, that some of those redshirts actually fell for it and started to move. 'Cept then, one of the guys in white reached over, grabbed her by the shoulders and said, _'Princess, for once in your life, stay put and let the people guarding you do their job!'_ "

The Corellian showed teeth in a half-smirk. "Half a second later he had only a bunch of loose fabric in his hands, with Leia turning on him like an angry scyk and shoving him back hard enough to knock him over – sight for sore eyes, I can tell you! – even if the set of steps right behind his boots surely helped."

The smirk vanished. "Could have ended ugly, though – guy must be twice her size without armor and there was an edge on his voice… could have sworn, for a moment, he'd hit her back. But then she snarls_, 'You! I thought you were dead! If I wouldn't break my hand on that stupid helmet, I would punch you!'_ and holds out her hand to help him up. Makes any sense to you?"

Luke shook his head. "Han, I've met her about ten seconds before you did. And she's never mentioned …."

The puzzle pieces clicked. The set of white armor right behind Leia had not stood out in the shuttle because they were _all_ on the large side; and his father's cloak of conviction and his own worries had masked further details effectively.

"… yes, she did," the young Jedi breathed, "she once told me that she knew Veers when she was a kid …"

Hazel eyes went wide. "Kriff, she's really collecting generals, isn't she?"

Luke couldn't help it. As inappropriate as the reaction was in the current situation, he started sniggering.

A friendly cuff around the head shut him up again. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, kid. Anyways, once everyone was back on their feet, she managed to convince the whole bunch that she wasn't a visible target anymore, with so many larger guys surrounding her, and would _NOT_ wait in a shuttle sitting in the open. Secondly, if Ashen lost the next Emperor, too, no one would entrust him with a _third_ one; and lastly, if they didn't want all targets in the same place, then His Lordshipness had already enough of a headstart to spread the risk."

A half weary, half incredulous sigh. "Guess, in the end they thought if they just went _'As you wish, Your Highness'_ and tagged along, they could at least keep her in their sights.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

In the upper levels of the palace, the overall gigantism was far less pronounced and, at least along the route they followed, opulence quickly gave way to much more utilitarian design once they were out of the outer, representative halls. His previous practice on the _Lady_'s med-deck allowed Luke to slide apart the complicated locking mechanism behind the wall panel with relative ease and so they made it up a narrow staircase and into an only slightly less narrow gallery almost exactly in time with Lord Vader's entry into the room beyond the semi-transparent insets high up on the wall. Hidden listening devices provided a one-way sound transfer.

The Sithlord had shed most of the Red Guards somewhere along the way, taking a mere six of them with him for this meeting – not that anyone would take those for more than a nod at tradition instead of an actual protective detail, the young Jedi expected. Black cape flaring in his wake, Lord Vader made his way around the elongated oval table and took his place at the center of it, back to the wide curved window overlooking the cityscape beneath and opposite the entrance; as he made no move to take a seat, however, all of the others remained standing, too.

About half of the room's capacity was already filled, and more attendees hurried in behind the new ruler in a ragged stream. With uncharacteristic patience, Lord Vader waited until the inrush had trickled away before speaking. Luke used the time to get a good look on this '_Council'_.

Presumably, the couple of dozen people assembled in the large, deceptively simply decorated room were among the most prestigious personages of the Empire but the young Jedi had a hard, _hard_ time to keep a straight face at the sight.

He hadn't known you could do _that_ with textiles in some parts, while in other cases, _why would anyone want to?!_ Luke had seen his aunt mend and sew enough clothes to appreciate the amount of work that must have gone into each of those … _costumes_, but really, silk, brocade, velvet and cloth-of-gold – and those were just the materials he could name offhand – didn't deserve to get … _molded_ and mixed in this fashion.

To illustrate, one of the more dignified-looking specimens was a tall man in his late forties perhaps, handsome if not for his unfortunate inclination to combine a wide raised collar with a brocade-hemmed cape, a chest-wrap made from some sort of gilded reptilian skin over a plum-colored silken shirt with puffed, slashed sleeves and trousers of the same material, topped with a heavy belt that held up a weird sort of, uh, padded apron and Luke had no idea, at all, what in the Sandmother's name had happened to his socks.

The rumble of the deep mechanic baritone drew the young Jedi from his half amused, half perplexed studies.

"This is a time of change," his father proclaimed, "change that will come to the galaxy, change that will not stop outside these walls."

The black mask turned to survey the gathering arranged around the table and Luke could all but see the disgusted sneer behind it. "I have no use for sycophants."

A few of the more intelligent courtiers caught the hint and took their leave with a deep bow, displaying a remarkable agility for men of their advanced age and stature when they hastened from the room; the majority of the attendees, however, started to voice strident protests of their invaluable advisory capabilities. He of the bizarre socks was about to move towards the exit, too, before a tendril of black flames stopped him cold.

_You asked about the Hands, Son,_ came the inaudible comment, _this is one of them – a former trainee of the Jedi AgriCorps, recruited by Palpatine while he still was the Chancellor._

Before the young Jedi could figure out what to make of the statement – he was pretty sure that this man had not been the hidden sniper, in any case – the rest of those his father considered _'sycophants'_ were summarily swept from the room.

Luke was somewhat relieved that he was standing nearly on top of the entryway and therefore at the wrong angle to actually see it – if the level below was anything to go by, that particular doorway was pretty much standard-sized and the whole crowd of toadies had passed through the bottleneck at the same time. The squishy sound had been bad enough.

The only ones left in the room were the lone (and very, very nervous) _Hand_ and a handful of people who – the young Jedi assumed – held some actual job in the running of an Empire.

A gaunt, elder man wrapped in enough purple velvet to weather a sandstorm underneath.

Another tall, thin man of indeterminable age with a long thin mustache was draped in the same color but in a less plush fabric; he was also one of the very few to wear something the Tatooine native would have considered a sensible cut.

The other ones were a man in the white-and-gold-braid of a grand admiral and a comparatively young woman in what looked like a military uniform, except in red; a white forelock in otherwise pitch-black hair and different colored eyes – one blue, one albino-red – gave her an oddly piebald appearance.

None of them showed – _nor felt!_ – any concern for their so forcefully removed fellow councilors. Mustache even wore the faintest traces of a sneer of cruel amusement.

"Pestage for bureaucracy, Dangor for propaganda, Isard for intelligence, Tigellinus as Grand Moff of the central oversector and Vader for the military in general," Leia muttered under her breath, "no idea how Quest fits into the mix but the rest is Imperial leadership in a nutshell."

"The man with the cape, he's a Force-sensitive," Luke told her softly. His sister nodded and then the deep rumble of the vocoder put an end to the whispered exchange.

"Grand Admiral, have the Oversector Fleet stand down from high alert and return to their normal duties. Imperial Center is safe enough as it is."

Caught out at what could easily be construed as attempted mutiny, the man in white nodded so emphatically that it almost counted as a hasty bow. "Of course, milord. At once."

He started to reach for his comlink before a sharp gesture cut him off. "See to it personally – make sure there are no misunderstandings. I will address the Moffs and Grand Moffs later today."

Summarily dismissed, the Grand Admiral-cum-Grand Moff took his leave with military precision (_probably in the hope that the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces would look more favorably on the Navy officer than the politician)._

The door had barely slid closed behind him, when Palpatine's Grand Vizier decided that politeness had waited long enough.

"Well then, Lord Vader, what are your further plans?"

The ventilator hissed, once, twice, thrice while the silence stretched.

"I think, I will take up landscaping," the Sithlord said then, apparently nonsensically, "in the Manarai Mountains. There is something in the ground there that does not suit my tastes."

The odd-eyed woman went very, very still.

Using the moment of confusion, Lord Vader made a dismissive gesture towards the trio of functionaries. "Guards, place them under arrest. The future head-of-state will decide what to do with them."

While the Guards herded their captives away, the Sithlord turned his attention towards the sole other remaining occupant of the room.

"I am disappointed, Quest, that you would consider yourself a mere hanger-on," he said, and even though the vocoder intoned the words flatly, the mockery was palpable in the Force. "Is the life of a Hand not all about loyalty?"

"What would _you_ know about loyalty?" the other man snarled and then, perhaps feeling that he had nothing left to lose, he attacked.

The Hand was a fast draw, the young Jedi had to give him that, but nonetheless, the following seconds showed Luke how Bespin would have played out if Vader had really been what Obi-wan had pronounced him to be. Quest was using the unorthodox combination of a heavy blaster and a short lightsaber in his off-hand, and managed exactly one shot – swatted contemptuously into a wall while the gun went flying in the opposite direction – and one short-lived blade-block – when the Sithlord jumped across the table effortlessly and was abruptly within striking distance – before he ended on the floor in pieces. Very _dead_ pieces.

"Nine hells!" Han said, with feeling. Luke could only agree. Leia made a vaguely assenting noise, too, while watching the black-armored fighter beneath them extinguish his blade, return it to his belt and stride from the room with a brusque "Meet me on the twentieth level."

Before anyone could turn towards the downward staircase, though, she went back to a topic that had come up a minute earlier.

"Generals, what would I find if I dug into the Manarai Mountains that would offend a Sithlord?"

"Not my planet, Princess," the helmet com growled.

Ashen shook his head, too. "No idea, ma'am. The lower slopes are heavily populated and there are a few planetary shield generators embedded along the range, but the rest is just … _rocks_."

"Then obviously the question should be: what has Director Isard hidden in the Manarai Mountains that would offend Lord Vader?"


	34. Assembly

In another bout of blunt directness, Leia repeated her question as soon as the Sithlord had come again within a conversational distance.

"Lord Vader, what would I find if I dug into the Manarai Mountains?" were her exact words.

The Sithlord's answer was a cryptic, "A gravitational anomaly."

"A gravitational anomaly," his daughter repeated skeptically. "I did not know that Director Isard was of such a delicate disposition that a fluke of gravity would cause her such a fright."

The black helmet inclined. "Indeed not. Her reaction proved, however, that she did not expect me to suspect _anything_ amiss about the mountains – and her fellow councilors' confusion showed that _they_ were unaware of anything untoward, as well. Therefore, an immediate action is not necessary, the situation will keep for a day."

Leia opened her mouth to retort something cutting – and then the trained political leader reasserted itself.

"Very well," she said with just a hint of sarcasm on her voice, "Let us keep the mountains in their original shape for a day longer. What are your intentions for the Assembly of Moffs?"

"The _title_ Moff was reinstated to call back to ancient glories. The _position_ itself, on the other hand, was left woefully undefined. They were meant to be a key instrument of the New Order; meant to maintain order and enforce the law beyond a planetary level, serve as a check for the local governments to prevent corruption, but not interfere otherwise. The details were, unfortunately, left entirely to the respective Moff's discretion.

In over a thousand sectors, a majority has found a workable way of interaction between local administration and sector government; inertia has held most of those arrangements in place despite the dissolution of the Senate. Where said arrangements are not based on reciprocated corruption, I intend to keep the status quo and formalize it. The rest will need to be replaced."

"An ambitious project," the former senator conceded, sounding almost involuntarily intrigued, "but surely you cannot expect to reform the Moff system in a single strike? How will you identify the corrupt ones, for example, and what set of rules should the others comply with? Let alone those who _'will need to be replaced'_ – what will happen to them and what base will be used to appoint their successors?!"

"Unlike most of the Imperial leading class – and that must include the Senate – I have roamed the galaxy on a roving commission for the last two and a half decades, Princess. I am at least passingly acquainted with the lion's share of Moffs – in their home sectors! The obviously corrupt ones are already known to me. The rest will learn that their actions will come under close scrutiny in the near future. As for the other points you have raised – what would_ you_ propose?"

As fast as Leia responded to that question, she had to have expected it, had set up her previous ones as a means to test the Sithlord for sincerity when talking about her role as head-of-state.

"Accountability to the law as much as anyone else; law enforcement only for crimes perpetrated outside planetary jurisdictions or across several different ones, or if a planetary law enforcement agency explicitly asks for assistance; emergencies are emergencies and if the local administration is corrupt or otherwise acting against law and order they can move against them, too, but whatever they do, it better holds up in an inquiry afterwards – that goes especially for excessive use of force!"

While his sister inhaled for – _Luke was sure!_ – the first time since starting on the list, their father used the pause to rumble, "Reasonable."

Leia blinked and Vader continued, "I was to add some details about repairs and replacements for equipment in-sector and a general prohibition to get involved in regional economy, directly or by proxy, that should minimize the temptations for corruption."

The politician's daughter – by blood and adoption – rallied herself. "The latter would effectively serve as a ban for any natives to apply to the post."

"Yes. Personal entanglements are more hindrance than help for a command post, in my experience."

"Humph. Very well, then. If the Moffs as a whole are to be subject to the law like anyone else, then the same must be true for the corrupt ones – and those who obviously abused their powers. They will have to stand trial for their crimes."

"As you wish. You realize, of course, that not all of them – and especially those with a penchant for excess violence – will submit quietly."

"Of course. But as much as you seem to prefer to clean house with an iron broom, I must remind you that the agreement was that I would not be a figurehead. If you mean to stand by that, you cannot simply pick-and-choose and throw me only those morsels you deem appropriate."

It was funny how deafening the silence could become when suddenly some two dozen people stopped breathing, to stare aghast at the petite princess challenging the Sithlord.

Luke could not read his father properly – as soon as he'd stepped on Coruscanti soil, the man had snapped up rock-solid shields, apparently by deeply ingrained habit – but wasn't particularly worried about his sister's continued well-being. The lack of distraction allowed the young Jedi to notice a detail that probably slipped past everyone else; it wasn't anything spectacular, either, just a subtle, likely subconscious shift of weight, with Han leaning one way and the white armor behind Leia the other, both bringing themselves a little closer to the princess. _Just in case._

_Collecting generals, indeed_, Luke thought with an internal smirk, and then he realized that the two so contrasting figures – black and white, huge and petite, etc. etc. – were nonetheless facing each other in a mirror image of the other's bearing.

It was really a toss-up which of the generals would make the connection first, he concluded gloomily.

Before the moment stretched for too long and the similarities became too obvious, the deep mechanic voice mercifully broke the tense silence.

"I will continue to deal with immediate threats as I see fit," the Sithlord declared, with absolute finality. But then the gleaming black helmet inclined minutely. "You raised a valid point, though. Any other decisions pertaining to the future course of the government will require your input."

While the surrounding populace restarted breathing, the Alderaani princess nodded regally. "Then we have an accord, Lord Vader."

With the trained diplomat's persuasiveness and her own dogged persistence she returned to the previous topic. "Speaking of decisions: when will you address the Assembly of Moffs?"

"In an hour and ten. Maybe we should discuss further details in a less … transitional environment?"

It went all political minutiae, from thereon.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The Assembly of Moffs took place in a large rotunda, a tiered room that could have held all of the thousand-plus sector governors in the flesh. As it were, only a few hundreds had actually flocked to Coruscant to pay the new galactic ruler their respects in person, the rest was represented by a massive battery of holographic busts.

Again, everyone but a handful of Red Guards had been consigned to observer status (and it was arguable if the same wasn't true for the latter), but at least this time, they were standing in the same room, a row of shadowy figures on the topmost gallery. Sublime acoustics carried the softest sound across the room when the Sithlord took center stage, many rows below.

"This is a time of change," Lord Vader started again, but as he intended for a majority of the attendees to participate in said change this time, he continued to elaborate.

"Two decades ago, the Empire rose to thunderous applause from the ruins of a Republic felled by sloth and corruption. The visions of the New Order were worthy of that applause but they were not always implemented as intended and if they were, they did not always keep."

The Sithlord turned to face all of the audience in succession, the movement unhurried but with his cape flaring out behind him, nonetheless.

"_That_ will change. The _title_ Moff was reinstated to call back to ancient glories and the _position_ was meant to be a key instrument of the New Order …"

While his father repeated his conception of the job almost verbatim from how he had explained it to Leia – and then went on to lay down the rules he had hashed out with her – Luke used the time to scan through the assembled governors.

They were all rather wary but only a few seemed to get worse the longer Lord Vader spoke; quite a number were political animals enough to look for advantages no matter what way the wind was blowing now.

The young Jedi was trying to decipher whatever information the blue silhouettes of the numerous faraway moffs revealed about their mindsets, when his father ended his speech with the assertion that "Mismanagement will not be tolerated; corruption will be punished."

Another measured survey of the assembly while the apprehension rose again. It spiked when the masked gaze stopped sweeping the rows and the Sithlord focused his attention on one of the upper tiers.

"Moff Bakh, for malfeasance in office you are herewith relieved of your duties and placed under arrest."

A sharp gesture sent one of the Red Guards after an unexpectedly young man in the third row from the top, gaping like a fish at the sudden turn of events. His querulous protests came to a (literally) screeching halt when the Guard come to fetch him brought his force pike within touching distance.

Without another glance at the arrestee, Lord Vader turned at one of the holograms.

"Grand Moff Kaine," he went on, and somewhere across the galaxy a solidly built, middle-aged man froze, "the Subterrel sector will be under your direct control until a suitable replacement has been found."

It took a second, but then the distant grand moff had pulled himself together.

"Yes, Lord Vader," he replied with a small bow.

"Moff Doscan …", "Moff Getelles … " The same scene repeated with a thickset man in a lower row and a rather too smug-looking Tigellinus sitting in the first tier, and a mid-height moff and an elderly grand moff named Therbon, respectively.

Then the Dark Lord's attention focused on another hologram.

"Grand Moff Hissa, for gross malfeasance in office you are herewith relieved of your duties and placed under arrest."

The distant grand moff bared inhumanly pointed teeth.

"You have no power …" he started before the deep mechanic baritone cut him off.

"I have _the authority_ to do exactly that. Do you deny it?"

Hissa laughed scornfully.

"I will take that as a _yes_," the Sithlord concluded. "An unwise choice."

A black-gauntleted hand was half raised and then fell abruptly. Half a second later, the faraway grand moff stiffened, eyes bulging; then a dark liquid welled up from between his lips and he crumbled out of the recording range of the holo connection.

The silence once again went deafening.

There was a healthy dose of theatrics involved, here. Luke knew for a fact that his father had not used the Force to somehow reach across some fifty thousand lightyears and kill a man on the other side of the galaxy, as most of the onlookers obviously assumed; with that foreknowledge he could have sworn that there had been a blurred movement right behind the dying man, caught in the recording beams the moment Hissa had collapsed.

_Doesn't change the fact that he has the means to see a rather powerful man dead, half a galaxy away, the exact moment it suits his purposes, _a rather unsettled voice at the back of the young Jedi's mind remarked.

Completely matter-of-fact, his father went on to saddle Grand Moff Therbon with another duty, as "the Kessel sector will be under your purview until a more permanent decision about its further governance has been reached."

"Fear. He's using _fear _to keep the galaxy in line!" Leia – who'd watched the whole affair in frowning silence, so far – hissed, voice so full of furious loathing and a bone-deep horror of _'Not again!'_ underneath that for a moment Luke could all but see the specter of a tall, gaunt, elderly man (that the young Jedi had never actually met in life) rise between them.

_Hard to argue with that._ In see-through, blue monochrome it was impossible to say if the next hologram went pale when his name came up as the list went on, but the man's terrified eagerness to comply was crystal clear.

Nevertheless, Luke didn't think the comparison was fair. Before he could come up with a proper counter-argument, though, metallic distortion beat him to the punch.

"Not the galaxy, Princess, the moffs. One man's life for the unnecessary destruction of a whole oversector fleet or more – that is a more than reasonable price."

"Don't quote any long-dead strategists at me, I dare you!" his sister snarled. "And what is stopping him from trying the same tactic elsewhere if it yields such an easy success here?!"

Cursing the ghosts summoned no doubt by a deluge of grand moff uniforms to the deepest of the nine hells, the young Jedi reached for his sister's arm.

"Leia, …" her started before Han's low drawl cut him off.

"Yeah, 'cause that worked so well, last time," the Corellian muttered sarcastically, before he turned dead-serious.

"Sorry to say so, Your Worshipfullness, but I'm going to side with him, here" – a negligent wave towards white armor – "one man's dead – just _one_! Really deserving guy, too, from what I've heard, but in any case, Vader's taking a much more individual approach than … uh. You know."

"Eloquent as ever," the former senator said caustically, but with two different sets of arms reaching to convey reassurance, the heat in her glare was slowly abating, the quicksilver temper burning itself out as quickly as it had been roused. With a weary sigh, she went back to observing the proceedings with a heavy scowl.

One other hologram tried to resist, ducking out of sight the moment his name was uttered; the connection flickered for a moment and when it became clear again, a severed head was hanging in the projection, suspended by some unseen means, and Grand Moff Kaine was handed another sector (this time he seemed grimly satisfied with the distant moff's demise).

Leia's scowl deepened but she did not explode again.

All in all, there were about three dozen arrestees herded together at the foot of the dais the Sithlord was standing on when he was finished, plus another two dozen or so scattered around the galaxy, too cowed (_for now!_) to try and escape.

While the Red Guards lead their frightened captives … somewhere, Lord Vader sent off the remaining Moffs and Grand Moffs with the stern warning that conduct unbecoming of an official in their position would have consequences, in the future. If Luke read things correctly, more than a few were wondering if a swift and quiet resignation might not be a viable career move, under the circumstances.

The room below them had barely started to empty when Leia turned on her heels and headed for an out-of-sight staircase, evidently quite familiar with the terrain, this time.


	35. Grid

There was no order Luke could hear or see – though he had to admit that he was at a bad angle to see what Gen. Ashen was doing with his hands – but they were still one corner away from the main entrance of the assembly rotunda when the Red Guards before him abruptly changed their formation from accurate lines to overlapping rows that effectively blocked the young Jedi from seeing what lay in front of their group. Half a step later, the stormtroopers behind them followed suit.

They had barely rounded the aforementioned corner before the Guards came to a stop completely, but by then the voices talking in front of the ornate entrance had become obvious and the young Jedi could guess what they were doing. A quick side-glance showed his sister scowling at the delay but submit to it with ill grace, which left him free to stretch his senses and listen in on the ongoing discussions.

"… overly fond of promoting _'friends'_ rather than competence," an unfamiliar voice was just saying. Luke though it might have been that old grand moff, Therbon.

"His corruption stemmed mainly from overindulgence and a resultant approachability for_ 'business opportunities'_," his father's distinct mechanic baritone replied, "with Getelles removed, the Antemeridian sector should fall in line easily. Hissa, however, has dabbled where he should not have. Your fellow grand moffs Tigellinus, Praji and Weizel will each temporarily assign ten stardestroyers to your fleet until the situation is completely resolved."

Even without seeing the man, the young Jedi could feel the spike of indignation laced with fear coming from the grand-admiral-cum-grand-moff.

"As you wish, milord." Tigellinus said obediently, even so.

A minimal pause and then Therbon added, "There is another request I have to make, Lord Vader."

A moment of silence, filled only by the hiss of the ventilator. "Make it, then."

"Change is a game for the young ones and I have served the galaxy for over fifty years now. I will not shirk my duties but when the governance of the Kessel sector is resolved, I would greatly appreciate it if a successor could be found, too, for the Maldrood oversector."

Tigellinus was flabbergasted, evidently incapable of comprehending how anyone would voluntarily step back from the power inherent in a grand moff position; the Sithlord, on the other hand, merely gave back, "Your resignation will be considered when the time comes, Grand Moff Therbon."

Satisfied for the time being, the old man took his leave and Tigellinus was shooed away after him, with a curt, "You may leave as well. The Farrfin sector awaits your attention, Grand Admiral."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

When the Guards finally restarted moving, cleared the distance separating them from Lord Vader and flowed around him to include the Emperor's heir in their cordon, the resolute expression on Leia's face presumably heralded a sharp harangue about the uses and abuses of fear in galactic governance, but Gen. Ashen beat her to the first word.

Apparently, the low warble from the general's comlink Luke had noticed peripherally a minute or so earlier, had been more serious than expected.

"Milord, there has been a malfunction in the internal alarm network that will require an authorization code of Aurek level or above to reset," Ashen reported. "With your leave, milord, I will see to it?"

It was quite possible that Han was simply trying to distract the princess, playing for time to further defuse her temper, but in any case, a Corellian drawl cut in promptly.

"Whoa, wait a minute! Aurek level or above? So either you," an almost accusing finger was pointed at the grey-clad commander of the Palace forces, "or His Lordship," the hand flipped and a casual thumb indicated the resident Sithlord, "is called away suddenly?"

A challenging stare swept across the surrounding Imperials "Does anyone else want to spell _'trap'_ for me or shall I do the honors?"

Ashen glared; Leia hissed "Han!" and Vader replied, as dead-pan as only the vocoder could manage but ominous nonetheless, "The word you are looking for, General Solo, is _'sentry gun'_."

Han blinked, Ashen did the same but caught himself faster.

"All access routes to the command center are protected by an enfilade of sentry guns, among other measures," the Palace force commander said, looking down his nose at the ex-smuggler – or would have if the Corellian had not been of the same height.

"The point is moot, though," the mechanic baritone went on, "the fastest way to disable a trap is to spring it, and no automated gun is a match for the Force." A black-gauntleted hand was placed meaningfully on the hilt of a lightsaber.

Ashen looked about as enthusiastic about the _'spring the trap' _tactic as Piett had been in the beginning – and about equally resigned to get overruled.

Luke was about to nod agreement when something occurred to him. "Could this be a distraction? Meant to make us split the group in two, regardless if it's the general they are really after or the Force-users?"

"Gentlemen, are we not overthinking this?" a sharp soprano cut in, evidently tired of getting ignored. "Whatever that malfunction is, it is obviously serious enough for the commander of the Palace forces to be informed and have him intervene. Instead of speculating what the smokescreen is hiding, we should first check how much damage a fire could do."

"She's right," a metallically distorted voice growled. "How likely is it, for someone with in-depth access to Palace security to think like a rebel?"

A deep, almost subsonic boom cut short the argument, the basso roar of a distant explosion muffled by the myriad of intervening walls of the gigantic building.

At the very edge of hearing, the young Jedi thought he might hear the high-pitched wail of an alarm, but in the closer vicinity everything stayed quiet.

For a moment, that was.

"Get the alarm grid back running!" the Sithlord snarled at Ashen, adding "a blade might prove necessary," before the man had even started to acknowledge the order.

Luke nodded grimly. When the general pushed through the group and fell into a brisk jog that was the fastest pace dignity would allow for an officer – and probably the fastest pace those gleaming boots still found purchase on equally gleaming floors, too – the young Jedi stayed right behind him, regardless of the older man's longer legs.

A final look over his shoulder showed his father – assorted guards and their charges at his heels – hurrying the other way.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

They took a turbolift up to a more utilitarian level – and obviously it had been the lack of traction that had slowed Ashen earlier, for on the less polished floor of the new corridor the general picked up some additional speed. Approaching another turbolift, he performed an unexpectedly dexterous sleight of hand in fishing two code cylinders from his breast pocket one-handedly and inserting both, at once, into a pair of sockets next to the door of the lift, while calling the latter with the other hand.

As they waited for the turbolift to arrive, the older man threw Luke a few pieces of advice.

"Two sets of sentry guns, one above the exit, one facing it. They protect the command center and are activated when the center goes into lock-down or if the sensors in the corridor detect a threat, such as an activated weapon."

Luke nodded in understanding, the doors opened to allow them entry into the lift and the code cylinders saw use again, to coax it into accepting a certain level as their destination.

"If the command center had gone into lock-down, this turbolift should have been deactivated. It is not impossible that the guns are active regardless, but … it is less likely."

The lift started to rise and Ashen turned, a thin humorless smile on his lips. "The guns are motion-triggered and the doors of the lift are already in their line of fire. When the doors start to open, you'll have about half a second to determine if the guns on the opposite end of the corridor are priming to fire."

The young Jedi nodded absently, senses already stretching, searching for a threat, a warning, anything, but the Emperor's decades-long residence had steeped the building in Dark energies, and beyond those cloying clouds, he could feel nothing.

_Half a second_, that went way beyond human reaction times but with the Force it was doable. The general didn't seem to consider it impossible, which probably meant he had seen his father in action, and Luke, well _Luke would just have to live up to those expectations!_

The lift reached the designated level, stopped and opened its door, leaving the young rebel to stare down a quad laser canon some fifty meters away, the firepower equivalent of his entire X-wing combined into a single armament. There was probably some cosmic irony involved, Luke decided.

For now, the touch of irony seemed to satisfy the fates, though, the sentry guns gave no sign of preparing to fire and after an endless second, the young Jedi made a cautious step forward, out of the lift and craned his head back to get a look at the matching quad cannon mounted above the doors opening into the turbolift. The little light Luke could see was burning a steady green, which, hopefully, was a good sign.

"No sign of activation," Ashen confirmed, and proceeded to march down the corridor, steps swift but nowhere near running.

The young Jedi followed him, lightsaber hilt in his hand, every sense alert.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The expansive room beyond the thick blastdoors looked pretty much how Luke would have imagined the security center of a building such as this to look like. Display over display over display, some switching from view to view every few seconds, some keeping track of specific locations, manned by a few dozen people in Imperial black and grey.

At a second glance, though, the busy bustle held an overtone of barely suppressed panic. To say that the officer on duty looked close to tears with relief at the sight of his superior taking charge would have been a lie, but the underlying sentiment was definitely there.

The exact details of the middle-aged man's report to Ashen partially escaped the young rebel, but he caught the gist. Instead of trying to get rid of the surveillance as such, someone had found a way to break the network, letting the gigantic dimensions of the Palace do the rest. There was simply no way to watch the entire construct simultaneously, so the command center would sweep across the neuralgic points continuously but otherwise relied on programmed routines that would focus the system automatically on those areas under alarm. Except that at the moment, alarms didn't spread from one section of the grid to the next, let alone to the command center, and without a way to prioritize, the sheer mass of information was crippling itself.

"We take down the secondary grid, reset it from the start and see if that solves the problem," Gen. Ashen decided afterwards, turning towards a nearby console to enter some kind of authorization code and then pressed his code cylinders into the other officer's hand to carry on with the rest of the procedure.

Luke used the time to try something he had never done before, too conditioned to keep his talent under wraps to even consider it, but if passive sensing didn't get him a clue, well, ships had active sensors for a reason and with the Emperor gone the necessity to hide himself was gone, too, wasn't it?

Drawing on the memory of his father doing the same, the young Jedi took a deep breath, gathered the Force around him and _flared_ it. Just for a split second.

Across the room, one or two people started, evidently just sensitive enough to notice something off, but in a side-room something clattered and a previously well-hidden presence resonated fleetingly with the sudden pulse of power. Luke didn't think, he simply ran.

The sound of his steps – and the commotion rising in his wake – must have been the last straw, for his quarry ran, too. When the young Jedi burst into a near identical observation room, he saw a silhouette outlined for a split-second in the doorway opposite and then the unknown Force user – _a Hand, what else could it be?! _– was running down the corridor outside.

Only the Force saved Luke from a serious concussion when the blast door snapped shut right in front of him because someone had slammed his hand down on an alarm button and put the command center into lockdown. With his arms braced against solid durasteel, however, he could feel the reverberations of the sentry guns going off.

_Individual fire,_ the rapid _thud-thud-thud_ told the pilot and with starship-rated canons going against unarmored flesh and a target that had been trapped in a narrow corridor and within the range of both emplacements when the guns had activated … fifteen seconds was probably a lot longer than any ordinary human would have lasted before the shadowy presence flared once and faded and the guns cycled down.

Luke pushed off the wall, finally responded to his father's sharp mental query with an almost detached_ Just experimenting with active sensors, _but quickly lost the mood for quips when the cameras outside showed only a smoking pile that wasn't identifiable as male or female or even human anymore.

_Scared up a Hand – I think – but lost them to the sentry guns,_ he amended.

_Unfortunate,_ was the dispassionate answer, _they might have known how deep this plot is reaching, but no matter. Stay safe, Son! _

And with that, the Sithlord's attention was drawn elsewhere.


	36. Trouble

Sorry for the delay. I was rather busy and then caught a nasty virus; the muse promptly decided to winter elsewhere.

* * *

It wasn't much of a surprise to find the whole room staring at him warily when Luke looked up from the display, those who wore one with a hand on their sidearm (_Ashen_) or across the barrel of the same (_everyone else in black_). To keep a security force inside a security command center struck the young rebel as a very _Imperial _thing to do – or as a very pragmatic answer to the philosophical question of _'who watches the watchmen?' _Leia had once brought up.

At least, they were quick to follow Gen. Ashen's example and lowered their weapons, too, when the former, very carefully, unclenched his hand.

_Good. A Jedi can outdraw pretty much anyone and cheat time to start blocking a shot when the shooter's brain just begins to form the thought of pulling the trigger; but history – and _very _recent precedent! – shows that enough firepower can overcome those advantages. _And while Luke was reasonably certain that he could reach for his saber, bring up the blade and block half a dozen incoming bolts if it came to it, it would be a close thing. Which meant collateral damage – especially if the walls inside the command center were as mag-sealed as those outside in the corridor – and that, as odd as the thought still felt, was not something he wanted to happen in the nerve center of Palace security.

Further reflections about this weird new world were cut short when the general used the freed appendage to point at the abandoned workstation.

"I want all commands that went through that console!" he demanded before sweeping flinty eyes to the sealed blast door and back across the entire room.

"And who the hell was that, anyway?" he added, a distinct undertone of _'which idiot is responsible for them gaining access into _my _command center?!'_ on his voice.

"Sergeant Aor, sir," the man standing next to the empty seat hastened to reply, "He has been a member of the surveillance crew for over two years now and …"

"He has not!" Ashen cut in harshly. A sharp gesture and several of the black-clad, armed guards stepped forward. "Arrest this man!"

"He isn't lying," the young Jedi said quickly, caught himself a glare from the general and hastened to explain, "maybe it doesn't make sense objectively, but he's convinced it's the truth. _Has been_ _convinced_, I'd expect."

The prospective arrestee, who'd looked more confused than frightened, so far, turned a pasty white.

Ashen glared some more but amended, "Relieve him of his post."

Then he turned at the rest of the room and barked, "Anyone else thinking he's seen Sgt. Aor?"

"Yes, sir." Hesitantly, a hand came up, followed by another and another until pretty much all of the original occupants of the sideroom had turned themselves in.

"Stand down from your posts!" the general snarled, and sent those who had not admitted to anything untoward another sharp look. "Anyone else?"

A chorus of "No, sir!" answered him.

"Not a lie," Luke added without prompting.

While the dozen or so victims of the mind trick got herded off to the side, guarded by a quartet of hard-eyed men who clearly didn't care in the slightest if the accessory of a saboteur had had any choice in the matter, a technician summoned from the main room threw himself into the task of sifting command lines and Ashen jerked his head sideways, to invite the young Jedi to follow his lead back into the main room and there into a more quiet corner.

"Whatever you did to flush out that traitor, how far did it reach? And can you do the same on a more distant basis, sense trouble that does not affect you directly?" the general asked softly.

"I can sense Lord Vader," Luke offered back, "and he knows the Palace well enough to find the trouble."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

He might have just jinxed them all with that statement the young Jedi decided when he reached out and found his father all cold fury. Easy to locate, sure, but worrisome in its implications.

Fortunately, spatial awareness was an essential skill for a pilot and so it took Luke very little time to orient himself in a holographic map of the gargantuan construct and indicate a certain point, several levels down and much less central to the building. Ashen translated _"here"_ into a set of grid coordinates and those in turn allowed a surveillance specialist to take a closer look at the relevant security feed.

Converting the payload of a missile into the size of a fireball and consequently gauge how well the mission goals have been met was a skill the young rebel had also acquired over time, but obviously experience with explosions from a fighter pilot's perspective did not help so much to estimate the damage done by an explosion _inside _a building sturdy enough to channel the blast wave along its corridors.

Some twenty or so displays on the panel in front of them flipped, in a pattern somewhat reminiscent of petals unfolding, and revealed a puzzle picture done in red and black and white and grey, mostly.

Red was ubiquitous, but then, it had been the dominant color of decoration beforehand, too.

Black was empty screens, as more than a few of the cameras surrounding the _'here'_ had evidently been destroyed.

White was scattered armor – without their red-robed counterparts, though and Luke caught himself thinking '_Not ours, then'_, with some relief, followed by _'And since when did stormtrooper qualify for _that _description, anyway?!'_

Grey was a marble floor the shade of petrified storm clouds but also the remainders of unsettlingly familiar uniforms; the handful of moffs Lord Vader had had arrested was only a fraction of the number that would have to be replaced.

Another ripple brought the initially black displays back to life as the specialist increased his search range and a slice of crimson immediately drew the young Jedi's attention. The angle was far from ideal and the specific area rather poorly lit – the artificial lighting wrecked and the next light shaft some distance away – so Luke's first impression was just a horizontal hail of red plasma and weaving shadows.

_More than three different shooters_, the rebel pilot identified habitually, _identical heavy weapons, no return fire_; when the operator hastily adjusted the contrast, it became obvious why no one was shooting back: black armor and armor-weave was filling the entire width of the corridor. The latter led Luke to realize two things: for one, there was a practical aspect to his father's dramatic cape; as it flared, it widened his silhouette and obscured the actual body-shape and since it flowed behind him, it presented a target where he had just been, not where he _was_. The degree of flaring, on the other hand, told the young Jedi that adrenaline – and the Force – had sped up his perceptions, the scene before him was playing out a lot faster than it seemed.

Nonetheless, with Bespin and the very brief duel earlier firmly on his mind, there was definitely something _off _in the way the Sithlord moved. He was zigzagging expansively across the empty, smooth floor but it wasn't until he reached to block a shot that would have passed him by over a meter that Luke recognized why: his father was shielding a target much larger than his own body and neither his fighting style nor his general disposition was particularly suited for defensive actions.

_Leia! Han!_ "Follow that hallway! If we can't see the shooters, let's see who they are shooting at!"

Peripherally, the young rebel was aware that the soldier sent Ashen a questioning look before obeying at the general's assenting nod; his main attention lay on checking on his sister, preferably in a way that did not break her concentration at a potentially crucial moment. Against the backdrop of residual Darkness and with his father's overpowering presence close by, Luke couldn't find her at first, not until another switch on the screens before him sent the perspective back along the corridor, about halfway to the previous junction, and brought a huddled knot of armor into focus.

The hallway was as long and straight and coverless as the holo-projection had made it look; it was a representative part of the Palace, so the emphasis lay more on _hall_, but the decorators had opted for tapestries and other flat and fragile arts that burst into flame when a stray splash of plasma hit them and provided no shelter whatsoever. Hugging the walls might have helped a little but hugging the walls would have forced the Sithlord closer to that wall, too, to keep in the line of fire and apparently Leia and/or her guards had preferred to let him move unimpeded.

His sister was a pale flame of anger amid the solid wall of fire churning around her. With the scenes of carnage still spread across several displays before him, Luke felt he should have known what to look for more quickly, senseless destruction was a thing she whole-heartedly abhorred, after all.

Before the young Jedi could attempt to contact – and hopefully calm – her, though, the most basic reason for surrounding yourself with rows of armored bodies was put to the test. That reason being, of course, rows of armored bodies between yourself and whatever thing or creature chose to attack you; when the first blasts from behind started, they went through two sets of body-armor and stopped in the third.

While red, white and black folded up around her, pushing the princess down and under, the pale flame flared into a searing torch that blended seamlessly into her sire's fury. Luke wasn't sure if it was a legacy of seeing her planet destroyed for her sins or (having grown up with some sort of bodyguards always surrounding her) if it had started much earlier, but Leia hated it with a passion when someone else put themselves into harm's way to protect her. Which those men did: if there hadn't been any cover in the corridor before, now there was, a sort of sandbag barrier except one formed from dead and dying men. Even those not fatally wounded in the first shots made no move to get out of the line of fire but clung to each other, to keep the plasma soak as solid as possible.

This time the operator didn't need any additional prompting to send the screens racing even further down the corridor, up to the next junction and the pair of copper-colored , heavily armed and energy-shielded droids who had taken up position there. As Luke watched, another two metallic balls rolled into sight and unfolded into the same sort of unusually curved-bodied droids, blueish shields coming up a second later.

Beside him, Luke heard the general curse softly. "Someone has raided the Imperial War Museum! Droidekas."

* * *

_*Ducks* The muse also insisted that this was the only possible point to break off the chapter._

A/N2: Droidekas are the single most coolest feature the prequels contained (Jango Fett and Qui-Gon Jinn tie for second place). Unlike the deeply underwhelming standard battle droid, they can pose a credible threat even to Force-users. And they do so with _style_.


	37. Damage Control

_Since so many people asked the same question for the last chapter, some comment on Vader's tactic against the droidekas and why doesn't he just grab and squash them with the Force immediately: _manipulating objects with the Force takes concentration!_ As long as Vader has to substitute for a ray shield and deflect eight to twelve blaster cannons – _cannons, not pistols!_ – simultaneously, aimed not only at himself _but at the group of people behind him_, he doesn't have any concentration to spare. When another eight turn up behind him, it doesn't get any easier. _

_Well, then, if a coordinated grip takes too much concentration, why not a simple wave of power, surely he can do _that _on the side? Yes, he could. He can unleash tremendous power without any focus at all, he nearly broke his flagship that way. And some windows on the second Death Star. That's the catch – he's at the edge of his temper already because someone is trying to shoot his baby girl – _AGAIN!_ – and if he lashes out now, it won't be a controlled wave, it'll be a riptide. Plenty of collateral damage lies that way, and he can't have that!_

* * *

While red plasma splashed harmlessly across blueish shields – with no Sithlord obscuring the lines of sight, this time there _was_ some return fire, but neither the stormtroopers' E-11s nor the heavy blaster pistols the Red Guards had pulled from somewhere underneath their voluminous robes seemed to make much of an impression against the energy barriers surrounding the droidekas – the commander of the Palace forces marshalled whatever troops he could get his hands on towards the site of the fight – a bit of an exercise in frustration again, since the sabotage to the grid had also taken out all centralized messaging, so each unit had to be located and ordered around individually, only to disappear into another communications blackout in the area surrounding the site of the explosion – and Luke tried to do some damage control on his own.

There was nothing he could do about the barely-contained firestorm that was his father – if there ever had been an opportune moment to disrupt the older man's concentration, while in the process of blocking four or five pairs of blaster cannons from the front and the occasional shot from behind was _not_ it! – but the Sithlord had the experience to keep the conflagration under control and find his own way back. _Hopefully._

There wasn't much he could do about the situation that had set off Leia's temper but he _would_ do his best to cool her down – and a Tatooine native developed a lot of dedication when it came to all things _cool_.

And, above all, he would make sure that one firebrand would not feed and feed off the other in a vicious circle.

Gathering every scrap of calm and confidence he could get a hold on to himself, the young Jedi reached and pushed himself between the firewall and his sister's pale flame of temper.

_Cool. Shade. Shelter-from-the-scorching-heat,_ he projected wordlessly but with desert-bred determination, _Cool. Calm! _

Black flames leaned in and swayed a little further away, in a tiny nod of appreciation at the familiar image. Leia gave a start as if doused in cold water.

The pale flame wavered, but as a peripheral part of Luke's mind noted, the jolt was not merely confined to her Force presence; on a display at the edge of his awareness, white armor shifted to hold the princess down more securely.

_Veers_ and _pinned down_ suddenly clicked together and brought forth: _Clone Wars veteran_.

Before he could act on the inspiration, though, a somewhat shaken but still fierce query filled the young Jedi's mind.

_Luke?!_ his sister called, and the single syllable was packed with a flood of powerful emotion.

_Hot anger, fueled partly by the pointless bloodshed right in front of her and her helplessness to do something about it, partly by the fear that the precious chance for peace – _actual peace!_ – for the galaxy that she had only just allowed herself to start to believe in, might turn to ash under some fanatic dissenter's wrath. Anger that was even now feeding a growing resolve **not to let them win!**_

_I see you,_ Luke sent back_, Reinforcements on the way._ _Stay safe!_

He would have added, _You got so angry, it scared me. Stay **calm!**_, if the anger had not come framed by the stout conviction that it was safe to savor it, with no risk of losing herself in it, as long as there were warm arms encircling her and colder, harder but no less protective armor at her back. The attitude went against everything his meager teachings had established, but if he found a quiet moment at some point in the future, Luke would have to seriously consider if there wasn't a feasible way to deal with strong emotions in that approach.

For now, flying plasma posed a more immediate threat, in any case.

_Veers fought droids in the Clone Wars_, the young Jedi sent urgently, trying to convey _'Convince him he can let you up and do something else without risking your life'_ without actually saying so, before he pulled back to blink himself into focus inside the command center.

There Luke turned towards the officer beside him, bit back his first impatient words that would have implied that Ashen, perhaps a few years younger than Lord Vader's favorite general but surely not more, didn't know how to deal with the droidekas – he would probably never be any good at grand diplomatic speeches but at least he was getting the hang of keeping his mouth shut diplomatically! – and merely pointed at the relevant screen.

"They have someone with Clone Wars experience with them."

Gen. Ashen threw him a curious look at the sudden announcement, then a considering one and seemed to conclude that the young Jedi might not have followed the latest events in their entirety.

"Good," he said and pointed out another screen. "By some small stroke of good fortune, we have someone who is very familiar with destroyer droids on hand, too."

Luke followed the indicating hand and found a display on the side where a nearly white-haired grand moff was directing troops with the verve of a much younger man, while his colleague occasionally tried to get a word in edgewise – seeing how they were technically speaking on _his_ turf, here! – only to find himself generally ignored. The expression on Tigellinus' face, when his latest foray was cut off by a brusque "Shut up and learn, boy!", would have been highly amusing under different circumstances.

The young rebel nearly grinned with relief, nevertheless. As they had tarried, discussing further details with the Sithlord, Grand Moffs Therbon and Tigellinus had missed the stream of moffs moving towards the main entrance of the palace – and, resultantly, the explosion – but now had obviously found their way into the vicinity. And if anyone would know how to deal with droids, a man who'd seen the Separatist Crisis in its entirety was surely the best bet.

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Luke's mood improved even further when an intrepid – or simply well-programmed – mouse droid braved the perils of the contested corridor and provided a closer look at the opponents his father was slowly but surely closing in on.

Five droidekas stood in a rough half-circle and kept up a steady stream of fire. They did seem to possess some rudimentary sense of tactics, as two of them folded up and rolled backwards, once the irate Sithlord had closed in to less than twenty meters, while the rest concentrated all their fire on the approaching enemy.

The latter, to their misfortune, proved fatal, though: no longer restricted by the need to defend most of the width of the hallway, Lord Vader slid sidewise until he had drawn the fire to one wall and then rushed into the incoming storm of plasma. Some was deflected by blade and armored glove, some splashed uselessly across the wall when the Sithlord cleared the remaining distance within the blink of an eye and suddenly stood behind one of the droidekas.

The hapless droid had no time to turn: the red blade was extinguished for a moment, the metal hilt pressed gently through the shield and then the curved, elongated _'head' _fell in a shower of sparks. Before the other two droidekas could adjust their aim, a black blur, trailing smoke forming a hazy extension of the smoldering cape, had vaulted over the wreck and come down behind another. The two retreating destroyer droids, unfolded again halfway down the way to the next junction, immediately opened fire and so did the third one still close by, but Lord Vader had chosen his position well, the incoming blasts impacted all against the droid in front of him. Under point-blank fire from two heavy cannons plus the concentrated fire from another four aligned at almost the same angle, the shields quickly caved. The resultant explosion depleted the shields of its nearby counterpart and made the young Jedi lose track of his father for a moment, but then the Sithlord came down again and the last survivor of the trio turned into a headless wreck, too. Half a second later, the two remaining droidekas found themselves suddenly suspended in the air and then crushed into a single ball, forcefully bent bronzium quickly melding together in the fires of a pair of starship-class fusion generators with their containment casks ruptured.

Since the first drop in firepower when the two destroyer droids had started to withdraw, less than twenty seconds had passed.

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By all rights, that should have been the end of the fight in that part of the corridor but the clump of wreckage had not yet hit the floor with resounding clang before a pair of shadowy figures dropped from somewhere near the vaulted ceiling. They ignited lightsaber blades in mid-leap to land in a ready crouch, making ready to attack Lord Vader from two sides at once – and then the third came down a second later, using the preceding pair as distraction, vibro-axe aimed dead center at the obsidian mask.

The crimson blade came up in a block that was, if not reflex then at least decades-long habit, meeting the axe-haft just underneath the head. By all expectations, it should have gone through the haft, the arm gripping it and the torso behind it without significant resistance. Instead, the lightsaber blade held for a split-second before flickering out.

The axe-blade moved on unimpeded and sparks flew as the vibro-edge sheared through black-lacquered durasteel. The black-lacquered durasteel of the flared bottom of the helmet, fortunately, as the Sithlord had used that split-second to move his head a handbreadth to the side and the moments of resistance to turn in his shoulder so that the axe-blade just barely missed flesh completely.

Using his free hand – and a hefty dose of the Force – Lord Vader gave the assailant some extra forward momentum that catapulted the latter straight past the Sithlord's shoulder. With unnatural dexterity the man twisted and rolled and came back to his feet to face the black-armored giant.

"Vess Kogo," the vocoder growled, "I should have known. Your predilection for mayhem and destruction has slipped the last vestiges of restraint with the Emperor's death, I see."

A black gauntlet gestured expansively. "With your actions, you – and your compatriots – have declared yourselves renegades. _Rebels._"

"**No!**" Under normal circumstances, Luke would have called the relatively young face under the pitch-black hair ruggedly handsome; now it was twisted into a grimace of pure hate. "**_You_ **allied yourself with rebel scum! **You **are a traitor to the Empire!"

"And yet, it was not I who slaughtered scores of loyal servants of the Empire in these halls, today."

The cold rebuttal was almost drowned in the wordless shout that accompanied all three assailants attacking the Sithlord in unison. Habit brought the inoperable saber into a guard position – and then black armor weave, already worse for wear and one of its attachments destroyed by the axe-blow, whirled up and hit Kogo in the face, while the Sithlord sidestepped the first lightsaber blade – more orange than his father's deep crimson, Luke noted abstractedly – and grabbed the wrist guiding the second one, twisting it into the other saber-wielder.

By the time the black-haired Hand had thrown off the tangle of heavy fabric, only the Force allowed him to bring up his axe in time to block the first of the two lightsabers his opponent now had in hand and jump back to avoid the second.

The mutilated helmet tilted as Lord Vader looked deliberately away from the furious young man and considered the next shortened-out weapon. "A cortosis-covered vibro-axe – clever."

The useless hilt was dropped dismissively towards the body of its late owner. "But surely you were not taught that I was still stuck on the old Jedi doctrine that _'your lightsaber is your life'_, were you? The Force is much more versatile than that."

A black gauntlet clenched into a fist and Kogo's eyes bulged. Instead of clawing uselessly at his throat, though, the young man hurled the axe with impressive accuracy at the Sithlord while drawing a blaster pistol with the other hand.

Blue light engulfed the half-strangled Hand and the gun clattered to the floor as his body went slack.

"If you would unhand the man, Lord Vader, I believe his continued existence might give us a chance to lessen the _political _damage caused by his deed somewhat."

Robes no longer a pristine white and heavy blaster pistol in hand – retrieved from one of the Red Guards, presumably, _she certainly didn't hide that monster down _her _skirts, did she?! _– Leia eyed the unconscious Hand with deep contempt before she turned back at the Sithlord.

"Unless we can prove beyond reasonable doubt that the victims of the explosion were chosen arbitrarily, any trial against the moffs you removed from office will become a farce. People will always wonder how much worse the dead must have done, to be killed so summarily."

_And Alderaanis took the memory of the dead _very_ seriously._

A tense second later, Lord Vader nodded curtly and dropped Kogo to the floor. White-armored soldiers surged forward to secure the stunned man.


	38. Observations

_Alright. With wrapping up one job and getting started in another, I will not even pretend I have any idea when the next update will be. Just rest assured that it **will **come, for as long as it takes to get the galaxy in a shape that won't fall to pieces the moment my back is turned._

* * *

Luke had never seen anything quite like it.

Sure, Tatooine's environment was harsh enough that he'd helped digging through his first collapsed building at twelve, and life with the rebels had quickly showed him how the aftermath of bombardment looked like, too; even if as a pilot – and a rather good one, if he said so himself! – he was usually not sifting through the rubble himself but out chasing whatever had brought the ceiling down on people's head (**_or_**_ the one bringing down said ceilings_, a tiny voice at the back of his mind remarked).

But either setting had everyone who could help already helping to the best of their abilities and no one asked for special supplies because everything that was on hand was _everything there was_. The young Jedi had never seen a disaster area where there were so many potential helpers that they had to be organized and resources so limitless that the most beneficial ones had to be specified.

His father and his sister on the other hand, obviously had. The Sithlord wasn't doing much in terms of physical deeds, but he acted as a rallying point, a steady point of focus that everyone around could orient themselves on.

Contrastingly, Leia was sweeping up and down the ravaged hallways like a furious – if ultimately benevolent – dust devil, drawing in whoever stood too close to her and leaving things arranged to her liking in her wake. The first time she'd snapped, "You! Check through the bodies there – even the unlikely ones! Start aiding the wounded. Then find out who they are. And start on identifying the dead, their families must be notified before the press starts hounding them!" the soldiers she'd been addressing had looked at their commander instead, but then Lord Vader had growled, from over a dozen meters away, "Do as she says!" and from there on, she'd taken charge wherever she went.

No matter how much the Sithlord might play at being a landmark, presently_, Father is watching her very closely!_ Luke concluded – and was promptly reminded that he wasn't the only one.

"Girl _does_ know her disaster relief," Ashen murmured under his breath, eyes fixed to the screen where Leia was currently berating someone who was wearing what was probably a livery (as opposed to a military uniform), that even if there was very little rubble to clear up, someone would have to check for structural damage as a safety precaution. "Evidently, she did a little more than just look pretty on all those mercy missions.

If we need specialist support, make sure they get vetted to pass through the lockdown."

"I guess," the young rebel agreed vaguely, glad for the aside addressed at some other Imperial, to hide his irritation with himself to have put the fact that his sister had reached a certain publicity on this planet _before_ she'd ended up on a wanted poster out of his mind, but caught himself a hard look nevertheless.

"You never knew her as a princess," the general said slowly, "you only met her ... afterwards, didn't you?"

_Couple of hours after her planet was destroyed, if that's what you're asking!?_ old resentment hissed, before reflexive reaction – and common sense – reigned in the flare of temper. The young Jedi shook his head.

"Not much overlap with royalty in my life," he gave back dryly, before two decades of knowing next to nothing about his family had him add, "Did _you_ meet the princess, before?"

Something just as dry twitched across Ashen's lips. "Not personally, no. But at that level of Old Core nobility, whatever she did ended up in the gossip rags and she is … not exactly what I would call a forgettable person."

Luke blinked. An Imperial officer, let alone one with a job as weighty as the commander of the Palace forces, was _not _what the young rebel had pictured as a follower of gossip rags.

Some of that thought must have been readable on his face, for Ashen raised a sardonic eyebrow and went on, "I have a wife and daughter who was exactly at the right – or wrong, could be argued – age to take great interest in such things. Enough for certain facts to pass on by sheer osmosis."

"Err … " Luke hastily scanned the displays before him for a handy distraction but since the situation hadn't changed significantly in the last ten seconds, morbid curiosity got the better of him. "What facts?"

Features back to an impassive mask, the general ostentatiously returned his attention to the rows of displays, too.

"She went on more than her fair share of mercy missions," he said conversationally, after a few endless seconds, "started long before she became the youngest senator of her generation – maybe even a few before hers – and kept them up until the very end."

The mask unbent minutely to show some thin-lipped disapproval. "An end that kept the gossip mongers in a sellout for a month."

The young Jedi swallowed. Knowing the truth, he had never really bothered to find out what the official lies were, but …

"What did they say?" Luke asked softly.

Ashen kept his eyes firmly on the tiny white figure bustling about more than a kilometer away. His tone was dispassionate when he said, "To sum up the factual reports, her ship was found destroyed after a fragmented distress call, all hands aboard presumed dead; a few weeks later she was identified as a part of a rebel faction and apparently in a leading role, even; the reasons for her defection were never made an issue."

The cool, citing-info-for-a-briefing air turned back to cutting disdain. "In the ... more lurid publications, however, imagination was allowed to run wild.

You must understand," a sharp side-glance hit the young rebel, "she was quite the idol for plenty of young girls in the Empire – pretty, smart, courageous old nobility and so forth – and as such, she naturally couldn't have changed her mind about the Empire, all of a sudden. Clearly, she had been kidnapped and brainwashed and ... Given their target demographic, they couldn't say anything explicit, but those tabloids have insinuation down to an art form, anyway."

The general's focus went back to the screen in front of him. "It made a strong argument for those who wanted to further restrict the opportunities for females in leading positions – for, obviously, if she'd been a man, she would not have broken so easily."

_What an insidious way to destroy any lasting inroads Leia might have made among the (potential) ruling castes_ and _to use her name to achieve the very opposite of what she had been striving for. _Luke had to hand it to the Emperor, the old man really had known his game, down to the petty details.

He nearly missed the very last, very soft-spoken words of Ashen's speech. "Except that _this girl_ has never been broken."

With that, the commander of the Palace forces went back to his previous occupation, that was to scan the wall of displays before him and occasionally bark orders at various technicians, especially the one in charge of the string of mouse droids bouncing messages and observation data to and fro through the communications blackout around the site of the attack, and left the young Jedi wondering just what the man that the elder Veers had once called a _'damn good soldier but Palpatine's man, through-and-through'_ had been meaning to tell him with that.

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Before Luke could make up his mind if he shouldn't take a leaf out of his sister's book and ask straight-out, that middle-aged officer from earlier reappeared and drew his superior away to put the final touches on the reboot of the secondary surveillance grid.

The young Jedi had been left to his own devices for a mere ten seconds, though, when the gravelly voice spoke up again from his comlink.

"Ship preparing to launch from landing platform Cherek-4. Looks of a four-person airspeeder, but energy readings indicate starship-rated engines."

Silence stretched for long seconds before Luke realized that his father likely couldn't hear the message as the Sithlord – and everyone else the young Jedi knew to wear the special comlinks – was still inside the reach of the jammer blanket (or whatever else the Hands had used to keep their chosen point of attack isolated).

He could have played relay buoy and forwarded the information, plus the respective responses, back and forth to his father, but then the voice reported "Ship has launched. No interference from air-defense guns," and Luke reacted instinctively.

"Force it down," the (erstwhile) leader of the Alliance's most successful (if also most irregular) fighter squadron snapped, "non-fatally, preferably – or drive it up against the fleet. Don't let it escape into the city!"

A moment of stark silence.

"Who is there?!" Flat and slightly metallic, the tone still managed to convey an utter refusal to waste time on a flunkey with delusions of authority – impressive, for a mere three syllables.

Unfortunately, Luke had just as little time to waste. "Someone Lord Vader trusts enough to let him in on this line of communication! Unless you think I took it from him, don't waste time questioning my orders until you've secured that ship!"

The line stayed quiet but when the young Jedi had finally localized the screens showing the wide expanse of free space surrounding the Palace (an extravagant luxury, on this planet), the lone speeder racing towards the city had to swerve wildly because a non-descript ship in motley green-grey and maroon had slipped from between the skyscrapers and suddenly dropped into an aerodynamically impossible upright stance before it, outline bristling with weapons.

_Uh-oh._

"The Palace defenses are about to come back online and they target active weapons," Luke warned, as much for the sake of his father's chosen ally as in the hope for some live prisoners when he didn't even know _who exactly_ was trying to get away from the Palace as fast as possible.

Again, that didn't merit an acknowledgement, apparently, but when the speeder tried to dodge past the Firespray, the only thing hitting it was … _a tractor beam?_

The light-weight speeder suddenly jerked flush against her front, the much larger ship cut her engines and gravity did the rest. The repulsors of the speeder fought valiantly to keep a load afloat that exceeded their specifications by an order of magnitude and promptly burned themselves out while the ground was still a good hundred meters away.

As a disorientation technique, the freefall and the abrupt 90 degree shifts before and after it, as the Firespray somehow caught herself at the very last possible moment to land cockpit up[1] – meaning, with the speeder upside down – had to be rather effective. Nonetheless, there was something the young Jedi couldn't quite make out moving in the shadows closest to the landing site before the _Slave_'s ramp came down.

Luke blinked and the movement was gone and then a figure in scuffed Mandalorian armor dropped into a crouch next to the upturned speeder, did something unseen and raised a masked gaze straight back at the Palace and the young rebel watching him.

"Woman. Stunned. Where do you want her?"

_Really good question._ Luke was about to relay it to his father (_at long last!)_ when Ashen turned up again, took a look at the screens the young Jedi was so focused on and said, "What is _that _doing here?!"

Luke had arrived on Bespin at a point where the bounty hunter had been just another set of armor, worn green instead of polished white but with no further significance apart from being an unexpectedly alert obstacle on his way to Lord Vader. Consequently, the emotional impact of losing Han had never really stuck to that short glimpse across a gleaming white corridor. Han and Leia, on the other hand, would probably appreciate the cold disgust on the general's voice.

"Providing backup of the unlikely kind and therefore the sort that no one thinks of neutralizing beforehand," the young Jedi said with a sigh. _Really, how did Father – _and Leia!_ – do that, juggling so many factions at each other's throat within the same side?!_

"In this case, stopping someone who tried to get away from the Palace real fast," he went on. "Err, what is the best way so stash them somewhere, safe until the rest of this mess is sorted out?"

The question earned him two raised eyebrows but then Ashen relented and gave him the relevant directions.

* * *

[1] Both as a pilot and a tech aficionado, Luke _so_ wanted to take a closer look at the set of inertial dampeners that had allowed for that little stunt!


	39. Rejoined

_To address a point that came up in several reviews for the last chapter, a quick reminder: Boba Fett wasn't on Tatooine while Luke and the gang went to rescue Han (that's what determined the timing!) and said rescue never ever left Jabba's palace. No reason for Fett to go Sarlacc diving, then … _

* * *

The alarm grid came back online with the deafening howl of more than a dozen sirens going off at once. Someone swore and the noise dropped – but was not silenced completely! – and Luke could make out several slightly different kinds of wailing in the cacophony. One by one they fell quiet when each sector was checked if the alarming situation was already known and as well contained as possible; the young rebel could not quite believe his luck when they were.

Since the broken grid had been the reason he'd left the rest of his family and friend behind, though, Luke took this as his cue to take his leave and get back to them as quickly as the humongous dimensions of the Palace allowed. When he mentioned this to Gen. Ashen – minus the family bit, naturally – the older man looked torn for a long second, before declaring that he would coordinate the restoration of the communication system from the security center.

"I know you can localize Lord Vader's present position for orientation but I would prefer it if you did not move there on a straight line," a pointed look indicated the lightsaber hilt at the young Jedi's belt, "even if you could."

Luke hadn't intended to come across as _that_ much in a hurry to get back but didn't protest when one of the black-uniformed soldiers was waved over to guide the young rebel through the twists of opulent architecture.

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Luke had covered about half of the distance separating him from the familiar beacon of black flames when something flickered at the edge of his perceptions.

_Oh, no. Not! Again! _

The young Jedi reversed his course so abruptly that the soldier accompanying him almost walked into him. "Two or three levels down, that direction – where is the nearest lift, staircase or chute to get there?!"

The other man looked dubious for a moment but then he must have read something in Luke's eyes, swallowed any protests and simply pointed. The young Jedi ran.

Two levels down he found himself in another utilitarian set of corridors, which was a lucky coincidence since it kept him from sliding into the walls when he cut a corner or two too sharply. The last one he took a little less speedily and then slowed into an easy jog, to avoid the guns jerked in his direction actually getting fired.

About ten steps from the half dozen stormtroopers and quartet of Red Guards he came to a stop completely, took a deep breath of air and said, "You just retrieved this woman from a bounty hunter outside, on General Ashen's orders, to take her to a detention cell on level 7. There has been a change of plan. You can ask the general for confirmation in a minute, but first I have something to say to your prisoner."

Luke made sure that all of the various guards could see his hands when he slowly and carefully reached for his lightsaber and held it out for a moment, purposefully inactive, before he ignited it.

"Since noon I have seen Force-users try to wreck the peace by sniper-rifle, explosives, lightsaber and vibro-axe, and electronic warfare," he said then, just loud enough to be heard across the hum of the blade, "so, if you as much as twitch wrong, I will cut you down."

And then, because he was really much more of a cooperative creature by nature, he gestured at all the other men around with his free hand and added, "And then I will let them have the pieces."

The limp form in a dark blue overall slung across one of the stormtrooper's shoulder didn't twitch, but she was still so thoroughly that the immobile pose couldn't be anything but deliberate.

Satisfied for the moment, the young Jedi turned his eyes – if not his full attention – back at the Imperial soldiers. "We must take her to Lord Vader, first, he'll decide what to do with her."

Maybe he had been just that convincing; maybe the man had used the time to contact his superior unheard inside his helmet, but one of the stormtroopers acknowledged the order and Luke's guide, who had meanwhile caught up with him again, heaved a sigh of relief and said, "This way."

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With the local leading the way, Luke let the Imperials with the captive Hand precede him and followed them, lit saber in his hand. A brief questing tendril of Force verified that his father was not particularly busy at the moment and so the young Jedi used the time to inform the Sithlord of the current situation by shoving all the relevant information at him in first-hand impressions.

As messages went, that was perhaps a little roughshod but Luke had had a long day already, both in a physical sense and a metaphorical one; the young rebel had caught sight of the time while leaving the security command center, and while the clock proclaimed that it was just a bit past 1600 IST, a mere four hours since the end of the parade, it felt like _ages_ ago – and anyways, he had started the day well before midnight!

Roughshod and possibly a tad more revealing than intended when it came to the awful worry Luke had felt while condemned to _watch _his family attacked with very little prospect of interfering, and the resultant burst of anger when the young Jedi had found yet another foreign Force presence stir in his vicinity that had made his inner cynic comment that he probably _had_ inherited the family temper, it just took a rather longer time to rouse.

Consequently, after the mental equivalent of a startled _Hey!_ at the sudden deluge, the black flames coiled around Luke like a dragoness with her brood, all hair-trigger protectiveness, while, after a boyish smirk of appreciation for the piloting skill involved, his father's disembodied voice held a curious mix of pride and …_caution_, as if not entirely sure of his welcome.

_You did well, Son, you handled the situation perfectly,_ the voice assured the young Jedi, and the flames purred _Safe! Strong together! Mine!_

Luke was sorely tempted to make like a dragonet and just lean into the fierce, warm coils, but since the flames were just as happy to fan his own anger as to shield him from all external malevolence, he reluctantly kept some distance.

_Thanks. Juggling fast ships is a lot more my forte than juggling politics_, he gave back with a rueful smile.

_And yet you navigated those smoothly, as well_, his father gave back, _do not sell yourself short – not to yourself, at least! To allow an opponent to underestimate you is a viable tactic, but you must not let the diversion become reality, in this case! _

The young rebel was still wondering how badly jumbled the information must have had arrived at the recipient to create_ that _impression, when a wide door at the bottom of a ramp slid apart and the disparate group found themselves in the large corridor approaching the bombing side.

Amidst the bustle of rescue and salvage work, a petite white-robed figure was easily lost among the larger, armored ones. Luke located his sister's familiar presence at a discreet and/or prudent distance from the towering Sithlord awaiting their arrival and let the troops and their prisoner march on without him.

Instead the young Jedi drifted sidewise, slipped past a knot of red and white armor and decided that palatial manners could go hang. When it came to viscerally reassuring himself of his family's continued well-being, not even the strongest Force-perceptions could beat a good, solid hug. And if there was still the sharp tang of ozone clinging to Leia's hair and robes, ozone and scorched flesh, the stench of a serious firefight, it just made him hug his sister harder.

"You okay?" he whispered into her ear.

Luke felt rather than saw Leia press her lips together briefly, but then she nodded decisively.

Freeing one arm from the embrace, she made an all-encompassing gesture. "I was very well protected."

A half fond, half exasperated nod indicated the two men behind her in particular. "The worst _I_ got are some bruises from hitting the floor so fast."

Luke nodded slowly. He had seen the scorch mark on white armor and noticed a stretch of not-quite-right-looking black fabric at the side of Han's back. He was sure that if he brought the two marks back into alignment, there would be just enough space for a petite body underneath.

"You okay, too?" he asked his Corellian friend a bit belatedly.

Han snorted. "Yeah, kid, I'm good. Plenty of armor all around us."

When the young rebel still looked skeptical, even if the older man's stance was tense but not favoring any specific body parts, the ex-smuggler rolled his eyes.

"All that he," a casual thumb aside "got, was splash-off when some other poor bastard caught a blast and I got the splash-off of that splash-off. Ruined my jacket, not my hide."

For all the casualness, there was something sharp that Luke couldn't decipher in the hazel eyes when they flicked sidewise and Han added, with a wave towards white plasteel, "And before you waste your breath trying to ask, this is Class Four armor; it can handle splash-off, even at that caliber."

Reassured at least on that front, the young Jedi found his sister studying him intensely. "Luke, what happened on your side?"

"Nothing much. For the most part, I just had to _watch_ things happen," Luke quickly assured her.

A vague wave towards the group he had arrived with. "When all was over, someone tried to make a run for it – away from the Palace, I mean – and got arrested. I was halfway back here when I realized that she was a Force-user and since those were involved in all the attacks here, I decided that Lord Vader better got a look at her, too."

Leia raised an eyebrow. "Somewhere on the way you sensed she was Force-sensitive, decided a sidetrip to Lord Vader was in order and the guards simply went along with that?"

The young Jedi shrugged. "Pretty much, yes."

The ex-senator frowned thoughtfully. "Interesting …. Do you know who she is?"

Luke had to shake his head negatively but used the opportunity to stretch his senses towards his father and the prisoner set roughly back to the floor before him.

"Roganda Ismaren," the mechanic baritone just intoned, "you pride yourself as a pragmatist and yet you throw in your lot with that quarrelsome fool? How unfortunate."

"Please, milord! Please! I had no part in Kogo's plans! I just wanted my child to be safe! My son …"

"… is of no interest to me," the deep growl of the vocoder cut in, "if he is raised the offspring of a retired courtesan. But raise him as the vessel of your misguided ambitions and I will destroy you both, utterly.

There is no blood of Palpatine's in his veins," the Sithlord went on and there was a ripple among the surrounding ranks of Red Guards – and a wave of hostility in the Force – "make sure that there will be no misunderstandings on that!"

"No, milord. Of course not, milord. Thank you, milord! Thank you! I will raise him the best …"

"See that you do. When you regain custody of him – to break through a lock-down zone is still a criminal offense."

The woman – Ismaren – would have liked to protest, that much was obvious in the Force, but didn't dare to when a sharp gesture at the soldiers surrounding her sent them off. "Take her to the Force-proof holding cells on level 9."

His father had dismissed her as a negligible threat but Luke still felt better for putting himself – and his saber – between the captive Hand and his sister when local topography sent the troop past them again. Taking their cue from him, black, white and red shifted to readiness behind him, too.

The young Jedi had just gotten his first proper visual look at Ismaren, a slender dark-haired woman whose deceptively unadorned one-piece suit somehow managed to look exquisite even when accentuated with heavy shock-cuffs, when the latter reacted to one of her captors shoving her forward.

"I will not give you any trouble," she said.

Luke had barely time to recognize the slightly odd harmonics before a white-armored gauntlet closed around Ismaren's throat with a suddenness and violence that startled everyone – and there definitely had to be the Force involved for Leia to catch the opposite arm before the plasteel-covered fist impacted against the older woman's jaw.

"What are you doing?!" his sister hissed, whole bodyweight thrown into her grip on slick armor.

"Mind control," Luke said softly, "she was trying to manipulate the minds of the men holding her into accepting her words as absolute truth – I'm not sure if she's just that desperate to be believed or so used to getting what she wants that she's doing it by sheer habit, because it's really not a smart thing to do while Lord Vader is still within shouting distance …."

The young Jedi went silent completely, because this was not the sort of information he ought to spread around indiscriminately.

'_Not the point, anyway,' _he told his sister mentally, and jerked his head towards the elder Veer._ Fact is, _he _has had a really bad run-in with mind control, recently.'_

_And actually, I'm impressed he's coping so well! _he thought privately.

If Leia hadn't been so focused on other people, right now, she would have immediately caught on the fact that Luke had no legitimate reason to know that, her brother realized a second too late.


	40. Clean-up

_The month of May has been an interesting one – and not even of the Chinese curse variety – but I didn't find any time to write on this story. June should be looking up, but no promises …_

* * *

His sister had a deeply ominous way of pronouncing the words "I see."

It also shouldn't have surprised Luke as much as it did when Leia let go of her restraining grip the next moment – the former Alderaani princess wasn't really a pacifist at heart, after all, but a zealous proponent of the ideal that everyone should have the chance to make their own choices (_and face the consequences thereof, but only of _their own_ doings!_) – but he honestly couldn't have foreseen his sister to follow up by raising her pilfered weapon and present the heavy blaster in a reversed grip, the hold just slightly awkward thanks to its size.

"So you would like to do the honor, I assume," she said and there was some significance far beyond the mere words on her voice.

The elder Veers' reaction was interesting, too: the armored man froze. For an endless second the tableau held, before a gauntleted hand reached over to grip the proffered weapon and gave it an almost savage twist, until the muzzle didn't point straight at Leia's lower torso anymore.

"Stun her!" metallic distortion growled but at least the elder Veers made clear the intended target by pointing at the still choking Hand.

Stormtroopers were pack animals. The guards assigned to Ismaren had done nothing to stop another white-armored figure from assaulting their prisoner and now they complied without question, too.

While ionized air flickered bluely, a Corellian drawl mused aloud, "That sounds like a good idea, right from the beginning. Why didn't His Lordshipness think of giving the order to keep her under until she's safely in some cell or beyond, I wonder?"

Luke waited until azure lightning had dissipated and he had ascertained that the wily Hand was well and truly out of it before he answered.

"Because he gave her a chance to prove she meant to behave, I guess – and if she'd made a run for it, well, there's something worse than a Mandalorian hunter waiting outside the Palace. I couldn't see what exactly but it turned up right where Fett downed her."

"Fett?!" Han growled at the same time as Leia asked, sharply, "The same something that killed Hissa, you think?"

"He's good at catching up with people who've figured out how to play regular troops against themselves – such as the sort that has the inside knowledge to stage attacks _within_ the Palace," the young Jedi told the Corellian reasonably while mulling over his sister's question. "I suppose, yes."

Leia frowned pensively but asked no further; the hard look in Han's eyes, on the other hand, made Luke brace for a prolonged argument but then the older man huffed and demonstratively turned his back on the whole affair, in favor of picking up another line of question.

"How did you know?" he addressed the armored man beside him, "_I_ thought she sounded phony – but that was because no one _ever _says those words and means them!

Now, I'm used to that sort of hocus-pocus stuff from the kid," a casual wave indicated the nearby Jedi, "But how did _you_ know? 'Cause that's bound to be a lot more use for a regular guy like me."

For a long moment, hazel eyes met blank black lenses without getting any reaction.

"Experience," Veers ground out then and not even Han had the brazenness to question further at his tone.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

With the rescue and clean-up operation apparently well under control by then, the whole group soon reconvened around Lord Vader, plus the grand moffs Therbon and Tigellinus who had gravitated towards the Sithlord, too, at some point. Luke found himself acknowledged by a simple nod, while Leia and the Imperial leaders exchanged some terse but civil observations about the state of affairs around them. The young Jedi had very little to contribute on that front which left him at loose ends, free to notice the two grand moffs reactions.

Tigellinus didn't like the outspoken rebel in their midst one bit, was itching to _'put her in her place'_, but didn't quite dare to be less polite than Lord Vader was towards her – a politeness that hopelessly confused the grand admiral.

Therbon kept eyeing Leia like he knew her from somewhere but couldn't quite place her; a somewhat odd reaction since her name had come up more than once and the former senator had had her picture to go with the name on the Most Wanted list right from the beginning.

_A young female senator with an uncanny resemblance to another of that kind of his acquaintance, _black memory rose up to haunt him. Luke's sleep-deprived and Hands-on-a-Palace-coup-trip-beleaguered brain was promptly caught between incongruous jealousy – _why did everyone remember his mother but him!? _– and a sudden worry that once an outsider had made the connection _Organa-Naberrie_, that chain of thoughts might lead them to more dangerous parts of the family tree, too.

The young Jedi shook himself out of the futile fretting in time to hear his father announce, "Now the only Hand of any significant capability that has not been conclusively accounted for is Jade. A young woman. Redhead. Usually masquerading as a dancer."

"Dancer," Leia echoed, and the tone of her voice gave Luke the oddest sort of déjà-vu. His aunt had said the word with the same inflections but the older woman had been talking about the dubious attractions of Mos Eisley's nightlife ….

The former farmboy forcefully put the bittersweet memories aside. If nothing else, the local variant seemed to apply her charms with the same insincerity and if he added that to the tally the Hands had going in his mind already – if the Emperor's last pet didn't do the smart thing and _stayed_ unaccounted for, Luke would probably not even bother with a warning, this time.

Judging from the way red, white and black was shifting behind him, neither would anyone else.

The stray Hand was shoved to the back of his mind the next moment, though, when his sister inquired what plans Lord Vader had made for the rest of the day and how much the actions of Kogo and accomplices had already disrupted those plans.

Nothing much on a fixed schedule it turned out, apart from a "public address set for 1900 IST."

Leia nodded brusquely. "I assume that you have at least an outline of what you intend to say in that address? I would prefer to acquaint myself with those contents in advance.

But beforehand," a considering look ran across singed black armor-weave and plasteel, "the fresh-from-the-fight look might work wonders on recruitment posters, but it does not exactly convey stability and peace. I propose we use the next hour to freshen up?"

The young Jedi had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing impoliticly at the expression on Tigellinus' face when the petite princess offered fashion advice to the towering Sithlord.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Lord Vader had some private quarters in the Palace, in case the late Emperor had felt the urge to keep his second-in-command on hand, and of course the gigantic complex also included some lavish guest suites. After a polite query if Princess Organa had a preferred set of rooms there – _No, she had not yet been granted the privilege of a Palace invitation_, came the deeply, if subtly, sarcastic reply – a Red Guard was set to the task of guiding them there; the twenty-something _additional_ Guards forming up around their already substantial group were a bit excessive, though, Luke thought, the black flames' noticeable reluctance to let his children disappear from sight into another wing of building notwithstanding. He made sure to transmit the feeling.

More used the locality, his sister had a different concern. They were about half a corridor away from the Sithlord when Leia turned her eyes towards the ceiling and told the empty air above her, "General Ashen, I realize that a certain degree of surveillance is essential to provide proper security, but if I find any observers in the showers, I'll know where to lodge my complaints."

It took a sharply hissed "Han!" before the Corellian stopped describing graphically which forms _his_ complaints would take if he found any cause for offense.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

One of the liveried people was waiting in the long, opulent corridor housing the guest suites, a bundle of white and black in her arms. Faced with a solid wall of red armor, the grey-haired woman very cautiously draped three sets of clothing over an outstretched, plasteel-covered arm, asked softly if anything else would be needed – "something to drink would be nice but I don't trust the local taste in poisons," Luke heard Han mutter under his breath – and bowed herself out at the negative answer.

A quick but thorough check of the premises later, the Corellian somehow managed, by delving into some previously untapped reservoir of diplomatic skill, to shoo out the Red Guards. He might have even succeeded in delegating the elder Veers to the job of keeping the corridor _outside_ Leia's suite free from all intruders, if not for the princess' exasperated, "The whole point of this respite is to return _everyone_ to the best possible condition."

Irritated dark eyes swept from rebel to Imperial. "General, I can smell the charred plasteel from here. Have someone find you a new set of armor – and I serious doubt my safety will suffer significantly if the bathrooms of this suite are used in shifts."

Before anyone else could say something, Leia then announced, "Now, I'm going to take a shower," hefted the blaster she had still not let go off and added, "a nice, long shower and if anyone tries to interrupt without an immediate galactic crisis to back them up, they can explain themselves to this."

Seeing how extensively the front of her robe stuck to her shins, the young Jedi could sympathize.

With a look at the sumptuous couch someone had dropped the new clothes on, his sister next told him, "Luke, your hands should be the least sticky ones, put the fresh robes into the bathroom for me, will you?"

Despite everything, the young Jedi couldn't help but grin when he caught Han wipe his hands on his trousers surreptitiously before giving it up as a lost cause, while he complied.

The Corellian used the pretext to wash his hands to follow Leia into expanse of gold and blue marble, too, smiling beatifically at white armor-masks before he closed the door firmly in their faces.

He never set a foot into the bathroom proper, though, but quickly rejoined Luke at his post in the anteroom connecting it to the other parts of the suite.

After poking cursorily at the crisp black uniform with bloodstripes down the legs – Luke had thought it most practical to pick up the whole pile of clothes – Han found himself a nice doorjamb, leaning against the delicately carved wood with a well-executed semblance of relaxation.

"You think he's safe to keep around, Mr. High-and-Mighty – the white-armored one, I mean?"

The young Jedi shrugged. "I wouldn't want to get into a situation where he has to choose between Leia and Lord Vader – 'cause I really don't know which way that one would fall – but otherwise, yeah. Sure."

The ex-smuggler hummed thoughtfully. "Seems awfully close to the princess, yes," he put forward then.

Luke had not recognized it at that point, but the last time he'd heard that much self-conscious doubt hidden behind the usual cocky bluster, the other man had been asking him about _'a princess and a guy like me ...'_.

"Han, he's old enough to be her father, easily, and knows her since she was a kid," the young Jedi hastened to remind his friend. "If anything, he considers her the daughter he's never had!"

Technically speaking, his attempt to dispel the doubts had been successful, Luke supposed, for the Corellian gave a short, grim chuckle. "Lucky me, then, that she isn't really. You don't want to know what would happen to a guy like me if he gets caught shagging the general's daughter ..."

"Errr, ..." Seeing the younger man utterly at a loss for words, Han gave a crooked but somewhat more amused grin.

"And I'm not even talking about the rebel or the ex-spice smuggler, here. Bad enough to be a Navy dropout," he drawled.

Luke still had other complications on his mind, but at least this was an opening he could work with. "Ah. Ultimate sin of bad taste, huh?"

They spend a few seconds in light-hearted banter – two pilots united in derision when it came to lowly ground-pounders – before Han steered the conversation back to a more serious track.

"So, could you do that, too – not just read people but tell them what to do? Not that you'd ever want to, but could you?" he asked in a deceptively light tone.

"The first thing ever that I saw Kenobi do that wasn't everyday stuff, was to smile up at a stormtrooper patrol and tell them_ 'these aren't the droids you are looking for.'_ The man just went blank and repeated what he had been told. So yeah, I could definitely do that," the young Jedi admitted quietly – and he'd been tempted, fleetingly, to spare himself the haggling to get into Jabba's palace that way, but the memory of too many looks spelling _mind rape_ had quickly put paid to the notion. He really hadn't felt the need to put substance to those accusations.

_But thinking back at that long-ago mind-trick …_

"You know, Kenobi told me that it only worked on the weak-minded," Luke said slowly, "but I think what he meant is that you can only use a limited amount of power before people notice and that's just enough to overwhelm a weak will. If you don't care about subtle, though, and have the power to spare, you can brute-force yourself pretty much anywhere, I expect."

"Huh. Funny. Doesn't care about subtle and power to spare sounds just like His Lordshipness, but you don't hear about _him_ playing with meat-puppets. I wonder …"

The ex-smuggler froze, then started swearing, under his breath but rather colorfully – if the tone was anything to go by, the young Jedi recognized about a word in ten.

"You said the Emperor's death was really noticeable in the Force," Han finally said more intelligibly – if not any louder – "and Veers was _Vader_'s favorite general, who's seriously not fond of sharing his toys, by all accounts. That makes a pretty short list of people who'd dare to stick their grubby fingers into his people's heads. Think the old prune felt threatened by all that _'Hero of Hoth' _hype and took things personally or was he just making a point with Vader about who really was in charge?"


	41. Address

Thinking aloud in front of Han was a habit he needed to break in a hurry, the young Jedi decided. Well, that or bring his friend into the secret entirely, but as tempting as the prospect of a shared burden was, Luke didn't think it wise to provide his father with yet another reason to disapprove of the Corellian's continued existence.

_Though, speaking of Corellians in the know …_ Maybe he should ask Jix for advice on the matter – and while he was at it, include the question of how to break the news to Lord Vader that his agent did know about Leia, too, and had indeed known since before the Sithlord had, without inciting nine hells of unpleasant possibilities.

A twitch of eyebrows above expectant hazel eyes reminded the young Jedi of a more pressing issue.

"Errr, … point, I'd say, nothing to worry about a successful general unless he's _Vader's_ general," Luke gave back evasively, voice pitched to a low whisper, too.

He was reasonably sure that his sister had asserted herself on the subject of _'no watchers in the bathroom!'_, but he wasn't so sure about listeners and while the background noise of water drumming on stone – _the Tatooine farmboy wasn't going to get used to the novelty of _real water_ showers any time soon!_ – would probably mask the words, better to be safe than sorry.

Han hummed some more and Luke was dreading whatever conclusion the ex-smuggler might draw next, but for once the Force apparently _was_ with the young Jedi and the Corellian let the matter lie.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

In time, Leia reemerged, shooed Han into the shower, next, in a tone that brooked no argument, and then sailed into the main suite with the self-confident poise of one who owned the place, loose, damp tresses pinned up haphazardly and flowing outer robes draped nonchalantly over her arm.

Luke trailed after her, admired the speed with which the former senator charmed the names – not just designations, but _names!_ – out of the remaining trio of stormtroopers and meanwhile took note of the fact that the general might make Han nervous, but the elder Veers felt also less tense when he had Leia in sight but not the ex-smuggling Corellian.

The young Jedi had not yet decided if this was due to some aggravating aspect inherent to Han or if the general had simply figured out that the princess was less likely to hare off without her boyfriend – or any combination of the two – when his sister deemed her rapport with the stormtroopers sufficiently advanced and pressed the heavy blaster into a pair of armored hands with a smile.

"The Palace is all about appearances, not practicality," she explained with a _what-can-you-do?_ eye-roll "and proper appearance demands that a weapon of this size can impossibly be worn with a ten-layer Nubian silk robe. Find me something that will fit beneath the robe. Thank you."

For a moment, the soldier stared at her like she had broken into Shyriiwook song[1]– that much was obvious even behind the helmet – then he looked over her head at his general for a clue how to react, but Veers seemed content to ignore the situation in favor of reassembling white plasteel atop the snug black undersuit.

Left to his own devices, the stormtrooper folded under Leia's bright self-assurance and relayed the weapon and the request to the Red Guards waiting outside, incidentally crossing ways with his brother-in-arms who'd gone to retrieve a new backplate for his general.

Using the opportunity to sneak a closer look, Luke was quickly enlightened why Han had been so sure that Veers was wearing armor of superior quality: close up, the most severely scorched part of the discarded backplate was charred deeper than the set the young rebel had filched on the first Death Star had been thick in total. Luke could also concede, with hardly any hard feelings, that the older man looked better in half a stormtrooper armor than the former farmboy had in the full set – and not just because the latter one had been three sizes too large. It took a certain stature to pull off the look.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

When everyone was back to a representable – and fully fight-worthy – state, Leia's entourage and Lord Vader met again somewhere in the upper levels of the Palace, together with Gen. Ashen but (interestingly, Luke thought) without two grand moffs.

Their father's ideas for his inaugural address were little more than that; if he stuck to them, the speech would be short and to the point. He would pay the absolute minimum of respect to his predecessor (if for reasons other than the dust-dryly stated "there has been enough said about him in the media today and in the last three days"); he would make clear that he did not intend to follow the present course of the Empire blindly, including a repetition of the announcement that he had just made peace with the Alliance; and he would warn those who'd take violent offense at his new policy that if they went after the supposedly softer targets of _those who worked with him_, no refuge in the whole galaxy would keep them safe from retribution, black flames blazing high and hotly at the last point.

Used to improvise-as-the-situation-demands tactics and not exactly trained in public speaking, the young Jedi thought the outline didn't sound too bad; he would have expected more … _input_ from his sister, though, be it constructive criticism or further details that she wanted to be included, but the princess merely threw a sharp look at the Sithlord for the last statement and otherwise took cognizance without further comment.

Luke promptly started worrying if Leia thought the impromptu speech political suicide and intended to let Lord Vader – and by association the rest of Imperial leadership – crash and burn with it, the better to pick up the pieces afterwards. He quickly told himself that his sister was not that ruthlessly vicious a creature but a niggling doubt remained.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

With such happy thoughts to distract him, the rest of the preparations more or less rushed past the young Jedi until suddenly 1900 IST loomed up and the whole group was ushered towards a niche at the very front of the Palace while the Sithlord took center stage on the balcony beside them.

The formerly empty expanse of space surrounding the colossal building was jam-packed with people.

At the distance, it was impossible to make out individuals, the visual impression was just a sea of colorful specks framed in a solid white band, while the moment Lord Vader stepped into view a deep roar went up from the crowd that Luke identified after a moment as somewhat uncoordinated cheers from thousands – _possibly a million!_ – throats. Not even forced cheer, for the most part, the Force whispered in his mind. For a Tatooine farmboy, the overall effect was rather overwhelming.

The black-armored giant – enlarged to an even bigger frame on multiple huge public screens arranged around the enormous plaza – held up a hand and the many-voiced roar fell silent.

"Citizens of the Empire," Lord Vader began, magnified voice spread astoundingly evenly across the vast space, "a week ago an era has ended and a new one is about to begin."

The people sea murmured softly but the Sithlord talked on without acknowledging the noise.

"Palpatine was a great man once," he went on and behind him smooth, white marble flared into shape and color as the bust of a kindly looking elder gentleman was projected against the Palace wall, some five meters high – Luke would have never made the connection without the name-dropping, though, the dissimilarities to the distorted visage of the Emperor were just too great – "a man I once greatly admired.

He was a great man once, but in his old age he has lost track of his own visions, the visions of the New Order on which the Empire was born from the ashes of a Republic felled by sloth and corruption." The bust faded and morphed, until only the silhouette of the Imperial crest remained, glowing bluely against the wall.

"There are those who believe I will follow his example blindly – I will not. There are those who believe I _ought_ to follow his example blindly – I will not! For more than two decades I have fought to enforce peace and justice and security, noble ideals that all too easily turn into empty phrases if they are not upheld and defended, and the former has been done much less vigorously than the latter in the past.

That will change! The strength to defend certain principles will not falter," a black gauntlet was raised heavenwards, to where the slanted rays of the setting sun glinted off enough pale durasteel to create a temporary new constellation in the slowly darkening sky, the centerpiece just large enough to be recognizable as triangular amidst the undefined points of light, and the projection against the Palace wall took up the new motive, "but I have already taken measures with the Assembly of Moffs to redefine the rules of sector government and further changes will follow."

The sound of the sea swelled once more but subsided when Lord Vader gestured for silence again.

"Such reformation will not be without birthing pains – there are those who will resist all change in misguided adherence to what they perceive to be Palpatine's final intent or because they have benefited from the status quo. They will not stop me. I will not yield to any renegade factions that would rather see the galaxy burn than change!

Some will not strike at me directly, though; they will seek an easier target, a larger target and attack _those who stand with me_ instead – indeed, they already have!"

The vocoder, previously producing a strong but even tone, had shifted to a deep growl for the last sentence and now the string of pseudostars behind the Sithlord turned into row upon row of shrouded forms, each covered by an Imperial flag, some with recognizable human outlines underneath, some … not. A week ago, Luke would have considered the depiction typical Imperial propaganda, but he had seen that hall – or rather hall_way_, the corridor running in parallel to the one devastated by the bombings – for himself, had seen Leia pay her respects to the dead there and even added a silent childhood prayer for safe journey, too.

"They will not stop me, either!" the mechanic baritone thundered and a black-armored fist came down on white marble with a dull thud that even the microphones picked up, effectively quashing the beginnings of another uproar from the crowd.

"On the contrary, there will be no escape from retribution for them, no sanctuary, no hiding place obscure enough to elude my relentless pursuit! I will not have this galaxy torn apart by another senseless civil war when I have just ended the last one!"

With a conscious effort, raging black flames were drawn back under control and Lord Vader continued his speech in a more composed tone while the projection transformed again and his sister set her flowing signature next to the indecipherable scrawl that was, as Luke realized with a start, actually a set of initials in Huttese.

"All official authorities have been informed of this in the last three days and a public announcement has been made, too, but as the information might have been buried in the excitement of the day, it bears repeating: Since midnight today a permanent armistice with the Alliance to Restore the Republic has gone active; anyone to break the peace since then can no longer claim any righteous motivations – nor hope for an established opposing faction to join forces with."

The young Jedi didn't know how his father had acquired a view from the Alliance side of the table, with no further rebels in sight and the rest of the Imperial deputation as the background (_though he had a sneaking suspicion!_), but someone would definitely take offense at the one-sided perspective.

_Not that they wouldn't have objected, too, if their image in the act of joining forces with the Empire had been spread across half of Coruscant, though …._

The deep mechanic baritone rising again drew Luke back to the situation at hand.

"For the first time in decades there is a chance for the whole galaxy to stand united. Let us not squander that chance! Let us create a new, better future together!"

This time the roar was deafening, regardless of the distance.

* * *

[1] An experience not advisable for the uninitiated – or maybe Chewie just couldn't carry a tune to save his life. Luke had no real base for comparisons.

* * *

A/N: All kinds of reviews are welcome, as always, but if there's anyone out there who deals with political speeches professionally – be it through a study of history, literature, politics etc. or by actually writing them – here's your chance to stand in for Leia and give an appraisal of the political viability of this concoction. I would be truly grateful to get an expert opinion here ….

A/N2: Veers in a snug armor undersuit is a nod at ladyofdarkstar's _Careful What You Wish For: Embracing Destiny, Ch 9_, where he ends up wearing one of Han's (slightly too small) shirts – long story (literally, some 120 K words and counting ;) – and the effect is apparently "like an extra in the Fast and Furious movies." ;P


	42. Leave

_I understand why Sith have created Empires, time and time again throughout history,_ the young Jedi decided. He had felt more than half drunk when getting that medal on Yavin, but that hadn't been the nervousness as he'd thought then, but rather the focused emotions of the crowd. With a much, much larger number of people cheering beneath them now, simply standing near the intended target gave him a heady rush of foreign euphoria. _And for a master of the Dark Side, I bet this works just as well, if not better, with fear or hatred or whatever you can whip the mob into …_

A soft Corellian drawl snapped him out of the reverie.

"You okay, Leia?" Han asked quietly and Luke remembered belatedly that there was another Force sensitive standing in the same onrush of emotion – _and one who didn't even know …._

"I'm fine, Han," his sister gave back after a moment, and then, since both males beside her were still eyeing her worriedly, she added, "merely remembering that the last time I stood up a palace front hearing the crowd cheer, it was my father who'd just given a speech to the people of Aldera."

Her features firmed resolutely. "Which is an utterly absurd comparison, given the current situation."

The young Jedi was deeply grateful that Han scoffed loudly at the thought; the noise let Luke disguise his reaction as a sort of incredulous snort.

Lord Vader did not thank the crowd for their adulations, their attention or their coming; it would have felt odd for him to do so, too. He did not even bid them farewell afterwards, just stood on his balcony for long minutes – _oh Stars, how long has it been since _Father_ has had people cheer at him?!_ – before he raised one arm in a vaguely greeting manner, then turned on his heel and disappeared back into the colossal building in a swirl of black armor-weave.

Following the Sithlord's example, the observing group quickly returned indoors, too, to find the former in discussion with Gen. Ashen on how long to give the crowd outside to disperse before the space immediately surrounding the Palace would have to be cleared. Leia jumped right into the debate but focused on technical details only; her nonchalant assumption that no violence would be necessary to remove the jubilant masses from the premises was so obvious, though, that it had to be making a point.

When the issue was arranged to everyone's acceptance, Lord Vader abruptly changed the topic.

"I assume that you will want to spend the night on your ship, Princess?" he addressed his daughter.

"From which I surmise that you will not?" Leia threw back with a frown.

"No. I would appear uncertain of my position here. For the same reason, your return will also have to be accomplished via a … more neutral venue."

The princess had barely inclined her head in acknowledgement, if not necessarily assent, when Han jumped to a conclusion Luke had not even thought to consider and growled under his breath, "I'm not stepping foot on Fett's ship!"

It might have been those twenty-plus hours on his feet, but the younger rebel could not really take that seriously.

"Oh, come on, Han," he hissed back, "this time you'd be a passenger, you can complain about the service all the way up …"

A mechanic baritone promptly made clear that the exchange had not been quite as discreet as Luke had hoped for. "I was not going to propose that – though it can definitely be arranged if you insist."

Leia looked torn for a moment, half appalled by the suggestion, half by the way it had come to the Sithlord's attention.

"I do not think that would be wise," she conceded then, sounding none too adverse to make her disruptive companions eat their words, all the same.

The gleaming black helmet shifted minutely. "As you wish. It would not be the first time, though, that I employed his services as an escort; unlike most of his colleagues, Fett is an honorable man in his own ways."

The princess raised an eyebrow, politely unconvinced. "I wouldn't know. Regardless, Lord Vader, what other means of transportation did you have in mind?"

A tender, one of many supplying the ships hanging above the city planet with the odds and ends their logistics officers felt necessary to restock, was a much, much better option, the young Jedi thought gratefully. He didn't need to make any more enemies than he already had and the bounty hunter would have surely tried to kill Luke if the latter had inadvertently managed to inflict a vindictive but immune-to-prosecution Corellian on the man. Some of the stories he'd heard about Fett gave the bounty hunter a better-than-even chance when it came to taking on Jedi ….

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A (relatively) quick agreement that no significant activities (planned ones, at least) would be undertaken in Leia's absence and an appointment for another shuttle trip at 0700 IST the next morning later, they were on their way.

The Palace stood surrounded by a network of (heavily guarded) supply tunnels – if such a word applied on Coruscant, they were a _long_ way from ground-level, yet – meant to bring in required goods (and personnel) without necessitating unsightly deliveries to the Palace. Going the opposite direction, those tunnels would provide a discreet exit route, too.

This time, Han waited until the Sithlord was more than five minutes brisk march away and well and truly out of earshot before he muttered that an escort of two dozen Palace guards didn't qualify as _'discreet'_ under any definition he'd be aware of, but he had barely uttered the words when the Red Guards surrounding them melted away like dew in the dawn light and the remaining stormtroopers smoothly fell into a diamond formation.

Surrounded by white armor and flanked by a pair of black uniforms, the sole white-clad figure that would have looked out of place on a fleet tender was adequately obscured to any casual observers and so they reached a squat, bulky freighter without further incidents.

Most of the ship's holds were filled with stacked crates of materiel; but for the rare case of transporting passengers, too, along the hopscotching flight around the fleet, some cramped seating had been installed in a claustrophobic gap between the stacks. Four white armors just barely fit in an unbroken line across one side.

_Four._ The seating arrangements had been just as cramped on the incoming lambda shuttle but it had taken more than two dozen stormtroopers to fill the space, there. Luke didn't think that even the distractions of the day warranted that it had not truly registered until now that there were only four white armors, plus a general, left.

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The bulky tender was too large to fit comfortably into the side-hangar holding the _Falcon_, but on the other hand, squeezing through close-packed and/or tethered warships was what her pilots did for a living and so they reached the _Valiant_'s main hangar smoothly if not overly speedily.

The general would have stood back wordlessly after ascertaining that they had indeed reached their intended destination but Leia was having none of it. She closed the distance with a quick sidestep and raised to tiptoes to whisper something to the tall armored man, too soft for Luke to make out without putting some effort into eavesdropping. Whatever it had been, it made Veers freeze up for a second and then shake his head minimally. The princess frowned but stepped back with no further comment, to finally exit the tender and return to the Alliance cruiser.

The welcome committee awaiting them was a small one; just Madine and a small handful of Alliance soldiers – an unusually high number of inconspicuously armed crewmen loitering in the background notwithstanding (astromechs were, naturally, just part of the normal scenery in a warship hangar) – plus a Corellian that, by the looks of things, had blithely ignored all orders to stay away.

Predictably, Jix even insisted on getting in the first words of greeting.

"My, my, my, but haven't you gone Imperial on me, Solo," he drawled as soon as the returning trio set the first foot off the landing ramp, mischievous blue eyes raking down Han's uniform-clad form, "should I salute?"

Eyes flicking sidewise in an irritated glare, the Alliance intelligence chief bared teeth in an almost-snarl. "You feel a sudden urge to salute Imperial uniforms, Wrenga?"

"'Twas a time, I did. I'm sure you know the feeling, General …" Lord Vader's agent gave back easily, smiling his dragonesque smile again.

Before things could deteriorate further, the turbulence and engine roar of the departing tender made normal conversation impossible and after that forced pause Madine purposefully focused his attention exclusively on the returned Alliance members.

"Welcome back, Your Highness. Unless the situation planetside demands an immediate debriefing, I will not take up much of your time; for your information, though, I just received some reactions to Lord Vader's speech from the other members of High Command."

Leia nodded briskly. "Lord Vader has been surprisingly candid in his address; he merely glossed over the fact that there have been at least two – three, if you count an act of desperation – assassination attempts on him, personally, in the hours preceding the speech alone. He dismissed the Ruling Council, arrested Pestage, Dangor and Isard. The moffs will be held accountable to the law in the future and a large number of them will be replaced, the majority of those, however, because some party of die-hard Palpatine adherents decided to bomb those cooperating with the new regime."

Madine's responding nod was just as businesslike.

"How much can he rely on Palace security, at present?" he asked in return, calculating eyes sweeping to the resident Jedi and then back to the princess.

"In principle, pretty well," Luke said slowly, considered the soldiers beside the intelligence chief for a moment and added, "the attackers only got as far as they did because they had access to some very potent overrides."

The ex-commando definitely caught the hint, leaving the young Jedi wondering if this should worry him or not; Madine's next words were, nonetheless, a mere, "We'll wait and see, then."

Leia opened her mouth and then visibly changed tack mid-formulation. "You seem uncharacteristically laid-back, General – how exactly did High Command react?"

"Feyla is livid about his contributions to galactic peace getting dismissed for him being a non-human and Mothma says that this is not what she meant with being careful." The ex-Imperial was scrupulously meticulous with his address in any official function, but otherwise the way the Alliance intelligence chief spoke to and about people was a pretty good gauge of his mood. Right now, he was apparently not very happy with neither of his nominal colleagues.

"I see," the youngest member of the Alliance High Command said ominously. "If the fact that I was the only representative of the Alliance pictured for those few seconds dismisses the rest, the same is true for you, Solo, Calrissian, Skywalker and Antilles. So tell me, General, are you feeling slighted, too?"

Madine actually smiled in response. "No. My life – and my work – is much easier when the general public does not think _'high-level rebel'_ whenever they see my face – or whatever else we would count as now, with the armistice in place …"

"Allies should fit in any case," the former senator said decisively.

The intelligence chief nodded amiably but then turned serious again. "It is not the obvious grand gestures I am concerned with; it is the small background details that make me wonder what Vader meant to say with his display – and to whom? I would have pegged him for a blunt-force politician but the exact scene he chose ... Why linger on your movements after the signature, for example, if not to show the fact that General Brashin is not only stepping back to let you pass, he is actually doing so with a bow – a very slight bow, but still ..."

"That doesn't mean anything," Leia cut in icily, much more icily than Luke would have thought the previous statement deserved, except that her next words were, "**_Tarkin_** bowed to me when we met first on the D…, the _first _Death Star; some of them are just bred that way!"

Madine was wise enough not to press the point. He quickly excused himself with the need to find some sleep before tomorrow shaped up to become a long day, too, and departed.

Han wrapped one arm around the princess and started pulling her towards her quarters; the rest of the company had the good sense to keep silent and make their way towards their respective beds, too.

* * *

A/N: Tarkin _does_ bow to Leia during that "I should have expected to find you holding Vader's leash […] Charming to the last." scene. I expect that's Peter Cushing's impeccable manners bleeding through, but it also adds to the chilling persona Tarkin has, if the man who thinks nothing of condemning a young lady to torture and death – or destroying a populated world as an object lesson – nonetheless stays the perfect gentleman in his personal interactions with her …


	43. Review

A/N: lots of repetitive recap in this chapter, sorry. Had to get everyone on the same page, though.

And since somebody asked: I picture Ed Harris as Gen. Ashen, he does a great general in _The Rock_.

* * *

Of course, if Luke had hoped to get a chance to sleep peacefully any time soon, he would have been sorely disappointed. Used to the Force's idea of humor by now, he had held no such hopes, though.

Unfolding from where he had occupied himself in the shadow of a MC-20, a huge shaggy form had rumbled a greeting at the young Jedi before Chewie followed Han and Leia in silent vigilance; Luke, on the other hand, had barely managed three steps when a heavy arm was draped across his shoulder, clearly meant to lead – _well, _push,_ to be honest_ – him somewhere off the shortest route towards his bed. He could have sworn that he'd spotted Zev and Wedge among the loitering crew, too, but wasn't too surprised to see neither of them at that point, the former was probably distracting the latter right now. _Another friend cut out by the need for secrecy ..._.

A darkened doorway opened into an empty equipment room and Jix let go of the smaller man to properly round on him.

"What is this I hear about my favorite uncle and assassination attempts – _plural!_ – in a handful of hours?" a very soft but rather cutting voice asked, "What in nine hells has that so-called _Palace security_ been doing?!"

Before Luke could figure out the right way to answer that, a metallic clunk and an offended twitter followed by the sound of a half-closed door reopening before closing properly, signaled another friend joining the clandestine meeting. _At least I won't have to guard my tongue, then._

"You know what a Hand is, Jix?" the young Jedi ventured.

That gained him a sharp look and a sharper nod.

_That's a start; but now for the difficult part ..._ "You know they can ... influence your mind through the Force?"

The Corellian went from habitual slouch to coiled spring with barely any movement in-between but Luke almost made an instinctive step back, nonetheless.

"Yes," Jix growled, then forcefully uncoiled himself a little and said slowly, "but the way I was told it, it only works on the weak-minded. I've met Ashen once, you know? He's not what I'd call easily swayed."

_No kidding._ "No. But the Palace is a bit too large to be watched over by just one man and most people are … more pliable."

The young Jedi paused, considering. "Actually, I think they didn't have Ashen in the cards at all because they were just as convinced as the man himself that losing one emperor would get him torn apart by the next one." _Else they would have done something about him and that could have _really_ complicated things …._

The Corellian hummed in a way that might have signified agreement, skepticism or something else entirely and promptly jumped to another topic.

"So he really sacked Iceheart, first order of the day? Wish I could have seen her face." A smirk full of dragon teeth. "If he didn't have the military behind him beforehand, that should make most of the undecided ones declare for him!"

A detail that had been rattling around at the edge of Luke's awareness rose back to the forefront of his mind. "Isard. Jix, do you know what she did in the Manarai Mountains?"

Another sharp look. "Should I?"

"She got really scared when m… Uncle D mentioned them, but all he would say afterwards is that there was a gravitational anomaly. Which means _nothing_ to me …."

"Weeell, unless someone is playing around with gravity generators – can't see why, inside a mountain – it means that the density of the material in a certain area doesn't match with the surrounding stuff. Prospectors use that to localize ore deposits but somehow I don't think Iceheart is operating an off-the-books mining company …"

The young Jedi snorted. "Not really her style, no, from what I hear. Oh well, Father said the situation would keep another day, anyway."

Subtle hints weren't something Corellians had much use for but they still could decipher them if they wanted to and so Luke was on his way towards his bed soon after.

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The young rebel had made it about half the distance, far enough to become semi-hopeful to reach his room this time, when he nearly walked into a tall blond figure stepping into his path. Artoo's shrill string of beeps and hisses summed up Luke's feelings on the matter pretty well.

"Five minutes," he said with all the calm he could muster, "five minutes and then I'll head for bed, regardless of who or what stands in my way."

The corners of Gen. Madine's mouth twitched. All traces of amusement had vanished, however, when he said, "Overrides?"

For a split-second, the young Jedi hesitated, but there _was_ a Hand that might still be around and forewarned was forearmed, no matter what nasty follow-up questions would inevitably turn up. "A Hand, a Force-sensitive servant of the late Emperor, used his or her talent to convince people they had a right to access the command center of Palace security, to get some genuine, really high-level override codes into the system that broke up the surveillance grid from the inside. That particular Hand is dead now, but there is one – red-head named Jade, used to pose as a dancer – that might still be around."

The intelligence chief nodded slowly, clearly already planning security updates. Then he turned back at the younger man before him, eyes glittering eerily in the semi-darkness of the night-time dimmed corridors. "And can you do that, too, use your talent as the ultimate access code to people's minds, Skywalker?"

"I could," Luke said flatly. "But as tempting as the thought is, to simply tell you to _'go bother someone else!'_, it doesn't work like that. Unless I caught someone unaware and not particularly strong-willed, the force needed to change their minds would be noticeable and once you noticed the influence, you'd shake me off."

"You could use more force," the ex-commando suggested mildly.

"If you want someone to play with meat-puppets for you – the nearest sun is that way. Take. A. Hike!" the young Jedi hissed, before something occurred to him and he added, "And I would hurry if I were you – if Leia ever hears that you want to use mind control, she'll have your guts for garters _and then_ she'll toss you into a sun."

Madine looked more satisfied than threatened at the outbreak. He abruptly let the matter drop, nonetheless. "What did Wrenga want?"

"He's a friend, he's both worried and incurably curious and he's smart enough not to bother Leia at the moment, so he can't go and snark at Han," Luke told him curtly, but found expectant blue eyes still bore into him until he added, "He wanted to know what happened downside that didn't make it into the news."

"And?" the intelligence chief drawled, "Is there anything of relevance the princess forgot to mention?"

The young Jedi shrugged. "Maybe. Right before he arrested the top three of the Council, Vader said something about taking up landscaping in the Manarai Mountains. Made no sense to anyone, but Isard suddenly tried very hard not to look like she had seen a ghost. When Leia asked about it later, all Vader would say, is that there was a gravitational anomaly."

"A gravitational anomaly," Madine repeated thoughtfully, but seemed as stumped by the information as Luke (and Jix) had been, which gave the young Jedi an incongruent feeling of gratification.

Before they could discuss anything further, R2 made a sound like an alarm clock going off, startling both men.

The intelligence chief gave another twitch of a smile. "That's my five minutes deadline, I expect. Very well, see you tomorrow, Skywalker."

Luke had almost reached the next junction when a voice from behind him added, "The Jedi of old never seemed to think much of influencing people's minds as they saw fit. Made the accusation that they'd tried to take over the Republic seem none too unlikely, among other things."

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At 0500 the next morning, a somewhat bleary group congregated in the mess, found themselves large cups of caf and whatever food looked most appetizing and/or nourishing and made for a table off to the side, to properly rehash the previous day over breakfast. Luke would have thought the seven of them enough of a gathering but they were not quite seated yet when Leia spotted Adm. Ackbar entering the mess hall and went to invite the Mon Calamari to join them.

Han frowned for a moment at the tray that had been unceremoniously pressed into his hands, then set it down beside his own and dropped into the nearest seat. A long gulp of caf later, he finished his retort to something Jix had said to him a minute earlier.

"… we started low, of course. Within the first five minutes, Leia only went to save one Imperial general from an imaginary execution, nearly got sniped and then she almost broke her hand on a dead man's face."

Chewie huffed in exasperation; Jix was wearing his best Corellian Sabbacc face but a quick sidelook told Luke that the agent felt the young Jedi had been holding out on him the previous evening.

"_Which_ dead man?" Zev asked cautiously, almost simultaneous to Wedge's "What's a ... no, come think of it, I don't actually want to know what an imaginary execution would be."

Han smirked. "General Veers."

"Must have been one _ugly_ statue," Jix drawled, got a sharp look from his fellow Corellian and an noncommittal grunt before Han turned and gave the approaching Mon Calamari admiral – and specifically his choice of breakfast food – rather more attention than some sort of dried seaweed merited, Luke thought.

The distraction allowed the young Jedi to notice two things, though: _One_, neither he nor his sister had announced the mysterious reappearance of the presumed dead Imperial general so far, perhaps because the man didn't register as _'deadly enemy'_ for either of them anymore (if for slightly different reasons), and therefore other incidents had taken precedent. It could be argued that the information would have some tactical value for the Alliance, though, and there wasn't really any reason for Han _not _to share it ….

_Two,_ Zev was eyeing the princess' polite thanks for the Mon Calamari admiral pulling out her chair for her with a carefully blank expression, a defensive mask Luke hadn't seen since the very beginning of their acquaintance, before the ex-lieutenant caught himself and put up a good pretense. The young Jedi had the sudden bad feeling that Calrissian's offhand words about a _blood price_ had made the rounds and the younger Veers had no way of knowing that Leia had been more upset thinking the elder one dead than not – _Luke_ hadn't known but for the insights added in the last twenty-four hours!

Resolved to pull the young ex-Imperial – _and his sister!_ – aside at the first opportunity, he returned his attention to the beginning discussion, to find it had thankfully opened with the observations made from the _Valiant_.

"Has anyone monitored the Imperial Plaza? Was it cleared by force?" was one of Leia's first questions and Luke was unduly relieved to hear that no, the plaza had emptied peacefully.

Their current position relative to the Manarai Mountains was next, an inquiry that lead to the subject of landscaping in a mountain range when one had the largest warship in the known galaxy on hand, but since said warship was momentarily situated between the _Valiant_ and the mountains in question, no one aboard could get an independent look at the area.

"Isard has been rumored to run … off-the-record detainment centers for people who just disappear," a quiet voice spoke up from behind the princess and Leia extended the invitation to join them for breakfast to Gen. Madine without missing a beat. If the intelligence chief would have preferred not to include Chewie, Jix, Wedge or Zev in the debriefing, he had the good sense not to mention it aloud.

By the time they had to relocate to the hangar to catch their ride, the previous day had been recapped almost blow-by-blow; the moment it had been mentioned that Lord Vader had spent the night dirtside, though, Ackbar had concluded that the Sithlord would not be on the shuttle himself and Madine had smoothly added another half dozen people to Leia's entourage, "for additional security."

Three of those were rather obvious choices, even if the intelligence chief had advised, apologetically, that "a Wookiee escort might be too forward for the second day, I fear, Chewbacca" and Chewie had, if grumblingly, agreed.

The triangular shape of the lambda shuttle was just shimmering through the mag-fields when Luke realized that the name _'Veers'_ had not been mentioned again.


	44. Proceed

Busy month and some real-life tragedy that put my muse off the make-believe drama for a while.

* * *

There was no Sithlord to invite them in this time but otherwise the shuttle looked all but identical to the previous one, down to the unbroken wall of white armor surrounding the central seats.

Leia marched up the ramp without hesitation regardless and her expanded entourage followed her. Not one of the Imperials commented on the additional rebels – read: _Alliance personnel_ – nor did the latter say anything about the troopers outnumbering them more than two-to-one, but the atmosphere between the two opposing sets of guards felt decidedly frosty.

The former senator and future head-of-state's solution seemed to be to treat the situation as unremarkable until it became _just that_. Leia had voiced a clear and polite "Good morning" on stepping aboard and followed it with an inquiry where exactly they were headed for this morning and if anything had happened overnight that she ought to be aware of on arrival. While his sister was handed a datapad to peruse, Luke decided to trust in her people skills and follow her lead – if the resident Jedi showed no misgivings about Leia's safety, it ought to alleviate the worst of the concerns, right?

"I'll see if I can't get a seat at the back of the cockpit," Luke announced accordingly, "I've never steered a Lambda myself. Want to come, too, Wedge?"

His fellow fighter pilot shot him a _very_ suspicious look but rose to accompany him anyway. Zev looked torn for a second but then followed the young Jedi, too, catching up to the shorter man right in front of the cockpit doors.

"The trooper escort, was it like that before, too?" the younger Veers hissed quickly, apparently intending to use the short passageway through the _'neck'_ of the shuttle to shield his words from Imperial ears.

Not quite sure what to make of the question, Luke nodded. "Uh, yeah. I mean, there was Lord Vader, too, of course …. Why?"

Zev frowned. "For an honored guest, there should be an officer commanding the guard, the higher the better. An all-soldier escort looks like you just got arrested; it's …" an eloquent shrug, "_not polite."_

_A general should do, then_, the young Jedi thought wryly, but then caught himself up abruptly at the memory of uniform white figures, all standing tall and motionless, indistinguishable except by their imprints in the Force.

Weighing secrecy against peaceful cooperation – or rather lack thereof, if the sharp intake of breath from Wedge was anything to go by – Luke took the risk.

He repeated the first thought aloud if very quietly, adding a soft "he's just a little inconspicuous, right now," for good measure.

Zev blinked, took a deep breath and said "Good," with almost a smile; then he nodded towards the door ahead, wished them "Have fun playing rubbernecks," and turned back towards the main cabin.

The two remaining pilots shared a look and a shrug, before Wedge commented, "Might as well admire the view," and reached for the door opener.

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The man at the main controls didn't look up at their entrance but the young Jedi recognized his presence nonetheless. Apparently Lord Vader considered his wingman reliable enough to ferry his children. The copilot was a stranger and more than a bit askance at the request but finally waved them towards the empty auxiliary stations at the back of the cockpit.

The actual flying held little interest to Luke; the route from orbit to planet was hardly on a level of challenge with the piloting he had seen Han do above Endor, a mission for which the young Jedi had also familiarized himself with the Lambda's controls, just in case. The streaming sensor data was worth a look but only confirmed that the situation underneath the orbiting ships – or above the Palace, depending on perspective – had not changed significantly since the last evening: the descending shuttle was just one of many support craft moving to and fro between Lord Vader's fleet and the surface.

Fixing his eyes to the viewscreen before him served as a convenient excuse for distraction, though, when black flames rose to greet them. After a reflexive check for trouble for his children on their side – which Luke could deny without lying – Lord Vader went straight to business.

_Over the course of the last night, I received no less than 23 urgent communiques pertaining to the succession in government of various sectors, _the Sithlord declared.

There was some gruesome political pitfall lurking in that statement, the former farmboy just _knew_, but he couldn't immediately spot it. _Except_ ... maybe he was overthinking things.

_Were the people who sent them supposed to know about the need for successions?_ Luke asked back.

Leia had been concerned about the media finding out about the deaths before the respective families did; Lord Vader had not. A total of 187 moffs and 8 grand moffs would not return to their offices for one reason or the other, but all of them had seconds-in command who kept things running in their absence and those seconds had been informed that their superiors would be detained for a few days more on Coruscant.

_That _had been all.

The plan had been to sort through the arrangement and may reorganize some sectors at a more sedate pace, but if the fact – though perhaps not the exact figures – of all those sectors and oversectors having lost their top authorities had been leaked ...

Luke knew what the Alliance would have done with such a decapitated, possibly infighting military presence before the Armistice; he held no illusions who else would see and take the chance.

_Three of them had been informed of the delay, _his father confirmed his suspicions, _Nothing more._

_Kriff. So that's what Leia's reading on her pad right now? _the young Jedi ascertained – and got a split-second of hesitation in return that made him wonder just who had thought to provide that pad. If he had to guess, though, every cross-galactic message to Lord Vader most likely went through his flagship, first ….

_Among other things,_ the Sithlord sent back, _but none of that priority. This is not the intended sequence of events, but it will serve to acquaint certain Imperial leader to your sister as a force to be reckoned with._

There was something deeply surreal in the thought of **Leia **appointing **Imperial moffs and grand moffs_. _**

_You realize that she might – well, probably **will **– disagree with some of your candidates, right? What will happen if she doesn't just play along? _Luke warned.

_Your sister is realist enough to recognize the necessity of clear and decisive leadership under these precarious circumstances, _Lord Vader gave back in blithe conviction_, and as she is the one who will have to work with the sector governments in the future, I intend to leave the final decisions to her, anyway._

_That _was possibly an even more surreal notion. But one that left the young Jedi sporting a wide, hopeful grin on behalf of the galaxy.

A grin that went even wider – if a tiny bit more smirking – at the memory of Madine's declaration that, since Leia was the Alliance's ranking official with boots – or more dainty footwear – on the ground, all decisions that needed to be made on the fly were hers to make and he would back them, no matter what. Ackbar had eyed his fellow council members thoughtfully and then assured Leia of the same.

Luke had not consciously sent the image but the gist of it must have transferred anyway; the black armor-mask was hiding a full-blown predatory smirk now, judging by the way black flames were dancing with amused anticipation when his father withdrew from the contact.

_The politicians will not know what hit them_, were the Sithlord's final words.

Thankfully – for the sake of Jedi dignity – no one else in the shuttle cockpit had taken notice of his disjointed glee; Luke came back to his physical surroundings to the sound of Wedge exclaiming, "Hells! That is _one_ building?! I thought it was a whole district!"

Black Two still didn't look up from his controls but at least he tilted his head slightly sidewise to reply sardonically, "Welcome to Imperial Center. They like to do things big, here."

_They_, he'd said, the young Jedi noted, and likewise took note of the nasal undertones to the words that sounded as far out as Tatooine, if on the opposite side of the galaxy. _Now, is it a good thing if an Imp and a rebel find common ground on Core vs. Rim – or not?_ [1]

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No courtyard paved with legions of Red Guards awaited them this morning; once they'd identified themselves to Palace air control – _no fancy mineral-based name for this shuttle, just a utilitarian ST-321_ – they were curtly directed to a landing platform no different than dozens of others of its kind.

The pretense of ordinariness fell away the moment they touched the Palace grounds, though. Gen. Ashen bowed gallantly over Leia's hand, while another layer of red-cloaked armor fell in step around them and sent the (somewhat mollified) Alliance soldiers back to high alert.

His sister accepted the courtly greeting much more amiably than Luke would have feared given her outbreak the evening before. Han who'd been the most relaxed of Leia's escorts so far, looked on the verge of a biting comment but snapped his mouth closed again when Jix observed dryly that the last four years must have been the only time in Leia's life where she had _not _been treated like a princess by everyone.

Then another grand archway opened into a large conference room and deposited them in front of some two dozen moffs and grand moffs, plus one looming Dark Lord of the Sith.

The gleaming helmet inclined in greeting. "Princess Organa."

A masked gaze swept across the group in Alliance grey-and-tan and finally acknowledged their presence with a minimal nod before Lord Vader turned his attention back at the princess. "I trust you have been informed of the current quandary?"

"I have, Lord Vader," Leia gave back briskly. "As the Empire has not spontaneously collapsed the moment the sector governors left their posts to travel to Coruscant, I assume the position may be deputized for. In which cases are said deputies unwilling or unable to bear the full responsibility for their domains? All others can be upheld at least as 'acting' moff."

Several of the gathered Imperial leaders looked affronted, shocked or both at her forwardness but their father, Luke could all but _see_, was rather pleased by the response.

"My thoughts exactly," the vocoder intoned gravely, causing a number of indignant moffs to grow pale, "what is needed are suitable replacements for 7 oversectors – Kessel will be permanently merged into Maldrood – and 32 sectors. This is the comprehensive list."

Leia barely blinked, accepted the list and dove right in.

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All in all, the discussion went rather well, Luke thought.

There had been a tense moment near the beginning, when Oversector 4 had come up – it had never had an official name to go with the number but unofficially it had been named after its capital right from the beginning and the name had stuck around even after the planet had ceased to.

_Luke was standing close enough to notice the minimal hitch on Leia's breath when the Alderaani Oversector had come up._

_"I expect that you would have a preference here?" the deep mechanic voice had rumbled._

_"Rieekan" his sister had said after a long moment, "Carlist Rieekan. He knows the systems, he knows how to handle the military power that comes with the post and since he doesn't have a homeplanet in the sector, he can hardly be accused of entanglements in local businesses!"_

_By the end of the sentence, the glare and the tone had turned so icily cutting that men standing _beside_ the Sithlord had flinched away from it. _

_Lord Vader had merely inclined his head. "A good choice."_

No one had dared to disagree with the princess for the next few items but otherwise the list went on smoothly. Most of the moffs were political animals enough to work out that Leia had Vader's full support and followed suit.

Grand Moff/Admiral Tigellinus was the only notable exception: he had made his dislike clear enough the previous day that he could not believably fawn over her the way many of his colleagues did, but was now standing back and being silently unhelpful. Given that all of the moffs of the central oversector had flocked to Coruscant to join the Assembly but only three were going to return (and damnably few had opted for a competent second-in-command), leaving the grand admiral temporarily in charge of a good chunk of the Core Worlds, the lack of support left a palpable dent.

"You think there is no difference between Kogo and me," Leia said suddenly, dark eyes coming up to meet the grand admiral's evenly.

An all-encompassing gesture included the rest of the Alliance personnel present, "Any of us, really. Aren't we all just young fools so absolutely convinced of the previous regime's righteousness that we would go to any lengths, spill any amount of blood to restore it?"

Tigellinus' eyes flickered towards the Sithlord for a moment but there was little chance to get the _'right'_ answer to that question and the man had not been made grand admiral at forty-something for being stupid and/or never taking any risks. He squared his shoulders and nodded curtly. "Yes."

The crowd ... _rippled_, when people more or less subtly hastened to put distance between them and the grand admiral cum moff and also cleared the space between the latter and Lord Vader. In Luke's eyes, the shift contrasted harshly with the way Leia had people lean _closer _when an argument with the Sithlord threatened to explode.

Tigellinus might have intended to say more, but Leia cut him off with an unruffled, "Under most definitions, you would be right."

While the grand moff – and a lot of other people in the room – gaped at her calm admission, the princess went on, "If, at some point before the armistice, we had had the chance to take out the Emperor and a large number of moffs and grand moffs as a bonus, we would have definitely taken it. The sole difference lies in the timing: we tried for over a decade to find a peaceful solution first. We would have never set up such an attack **_on the very day said armistice went active!_**"

Leia took a deep breath, eyes flaming but face still outwardly calm. Force presence flaming, too, and black flames churning around her in a mix of pain and pride and nostalgia, but keeping more of a cautious distance than they'd ever bothered for Luke. He definitely wasn't jealous of his sister for that extra consideration, though, _no, he wasn't!_

"Kogo never gave peace a chance," Leia went on, tone less fierce if no less passionate than before, "I only ask that _you_ give it one – and we will do the same."

_Now, if only the Fates wouldn't always take such statements for a challenge …_

* * *

[1] Technically speaking, Corellia was a Core World, too, of course, but it had never really bought into the mix of high culture and snobbery the worlds closer to Coruscant put such stock in. As far as Luke could tell, Corellians took pride in being _Corellians _and therefore naturally ahead of anyone else.

* * *

A/N: Tydirium is an ore; however, it might be a (semiprecious) gemstone, too, for all I know (hematite and zircon, for example, the main iron and zirconium ores respectively around here, also have a use in jewelry, after all …). And it's far from the only mineral on the list of Lambda shuttle names.

A/N2: Canonically, Tigellinus got himself set up for execution/assassination-by-premeditated-diplomatic-failure by his supposedly best friend – he obviously didn't make it to grand moff by his phenomenal social acumen …


	45. Decide

The frank declaration that the Alliance was neither entirely blameless – _nor, when it came down to it,** helpless**_ – in the conflict with the Empire, cleared the air.

A few of the Imperials were thrown by the fact that Leia had set up the perfect opportunity to crush a powerful opponent as an object lesson for his (potential) compatriots and then had **_not_** made use of it; instead she had acknowledged his misgivings as substantiated but for one little detail, and made the time and effort to try and convince him with arguments. Other Imperials felt vindicated that their similar concerns had been recognized as valid and while not yet sure if they bought the princess's line of reasoning – _Tigellinus wasn't sure, yet, either!_ – they were now much more likely to consider Leia's proposals on their own merits rather than to just bow to the force of a threatening Sithlord.

Last but not least, the no-longer-rebels – Luke really needed to shake that term from his internal vocabulary – felt similarly assured that their princess was making her own points without depending on Lord Vader's whim to back her up in every confrontation.

Anxieties settled on both sides, the rest of the discussion went rather constructive.

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The optimistic feeling held until the list was through and the moffs dismissed but for Tigellinus (which, incidentally, put about even numbers of Imperials and Alliance members around the table, provided that the nominal 'guards' were counted, too).

Then Lord Vader stood a step back and announced gravely, "A few minutes ago, I was informed that acting moff Rusel has renounced Shwuy's allegiance to _'an Empire seized by an usurper and sold out to her_ _enemies'_ and asked all other sectors to do the same. As yet, he seems to stand alone but that state is unlikely to hold for long."

It was _still_ odd to think of an Empire under threat of splintering into factions as a bad thing, the young Jedi found. Nonetheless, that was the feeling generally shared around the room, in combination with a wary apprehension of how the Sithlord was going to react – Luke was already sure that their father had not expected any loyalty from the various moffs, for he had not felt any upsurge in the black flames and broken loyalties were a _serious_ offense in Vader's book.

When the latter kept his silence after the worrisome declaration, though, Grand Moff Tigellinus was the first to respond and did so with an incongruous sense of relief. Part of that might have been gratitude that no one had held _him_ to the fact that technically speaking he had just lost control of a part of his oversector, but mainly the man seemed simply glad to finally find himself back on familiar territory.

Consequently, he was quick to promise, "I will take care of it, milord," minimal pause, "Your Highness."

Leia had clearly anticipated more details from the Sithlord; now, however, she gave the grand moff cum admiral a long unreadable look instead.

"He would not listen to reason, even if it came backed by a stardestroyer, would he?" she asked coolly.

Tigellinus was about to reply in an automatic negative, when something in the princess's eyes caused him to actually think through his answer. He shook his head nevertheless. "Not Rusel, not unless it came backed by a score of destroyers and burned away everything he has, first."

Leia kept up her implacable, cool regard. "I expected as much from the man responsible for the Tondatha massacre."

For a moment the grand admiral froze, uncertain if _he_ was being held accountable for some atrocity he had no recollection of, but the princess's attention had already shifted to Lord Vader.

"You could remove the man without sending a fleet," she said, more statement than question.

Now the flames stirred a little, agitated by some emotion Luke couldn't read. The vocoder rendered their father's reply a flatly even tone, though.

"Him and his closest staff, yes."

"And they would be found beheaded, drowned in their own blood or fallen to some other, suitably gruesome fate, with no trace of the attacker remaining, I imagine."

Leia shook her head. "That would be the start of a reign of terror even more insidious than the last. Fleets and armies can be evaded or fought, if necessary, but there is no escape from invisible death."

The flames settled – and so did the startled resentments around the table; that option, pragmatic as it might have been, had obviously not had many friends around.

Without awaiting a verbal response, the princess talked on with a thoughtful frown. "Lord Vader, you spoke of building the future together – and if the history of the Republic has taught us one thing, then that a single system – or even sector – is always vulnerable."

A deep breath and Leia's expression turned to firm resolve. "I do not want to force anyone to stay part of the Empire – and I will not have a whole sector suffer for one man's thirst for power! But I am certain your ... _agents_ can incapacitate as well as kill – and if it is indeed the wish of the Shwuy sector to strike out on its own ... Well, you also said you would have the Imperial fleet hunt pirates, slavers and the like, fight to protect, in short, and it would stand to reason that the fleet's protection will only spread to those systems sheltering under the Empire's mantle."

Black flames surged. There was surprise, yes, this had not been part of any of their father's plans, but also pride and elation and for a split-second Leia was almost superimposed by another slight female figure, so strong was the emotion behind the memories his sister's resolute assessment had evoked. Luke was glad the other occupants of the rooms were too busy staring at Leia in consternation to notice his double-take – the Imperials for high-handedly recasting the Empire as a defensive alliance, the rebels for the unyielding Alderaani's proposal of blackmail to keep it together, the young Jedi assumed, he couldn't really read anything beyond the churning flames.

The former brightened considerable, however – most obviously Grand Moff Tigellinus – when Lord Vader put forth that, "Rusel has at least six stardestroyers, a number of smaller ships and several garrisons under his command. If Shwuy truly prefers to decline the Empire's protection, it will naturally have to give up the allotted military hardware, too. The mobile parts, at least, it would be churlish to demolish the barrack buildings, I suppose, but any Empire-installed weaponry will either be withdrawn or destroyed."

Leia opened her mouth to protest, then closed it with a click of teeth. She had already won more concessions than anyone – including her brother, if more for lack of reference points – would have imagined and professionally taught diplomacy presumably advised not to get greedy beyond reason.

"Very well," she conceded, "this should certainly strengthen the argument to stay in the fold. If Shwuy does decide to secede, though, there must be no reprisals against any natives serving the Empire, military or otherwise."

"They will have to make clear where their allegiances lie – if their loyalty is bound to their home systems rather than the Empire, they will be dismissed but free to go."

Tigellinus would have treated them as traitors, that much was clear from his mutinous expression. The only question he voiced, though, was, "What about Rusel and his command staff?"

"They already made their choice and used the Empire's means to further their own motives. They will be arrested and tried for that – and more, should they add to it. Likewise, any forces that attack without provocation – put them down as necessary."

Dark eyes snapped from Sithlord to grand moff and back. "Lord Vader, am I to understand that you have not had your fleet – or at least Death Squadron – prepped for departure towards the Shwuy Sector as we speak but that you will stay at Coruscant, to deal with ... further developments as they arise?"

The minimal inclination of the gleaming helmet might have meant anything. Personally, Luke didn't think the fleet had ever stood down from high alert – the _Valiant_ certainly hadn't – and could have jumped within minutes of the order being given.

The tiny gesture was enough for Leia to go on, regardless, "In that case, if your agents could keep Rusel from interfering at the crucial moment, I will accompany Grand Admiral Tigellinus," she nodded courteously at the named Imperial, "on the _Valiant_ and explain the situation to the populace of the Shwuy Sector."

Black flames wrapped around Leia's oblivious form in instinctive denial. The Sithlord might have been agreeable to take Leia's diplomatic – if not entirely without leverage – approach on the unruly sector, but to let his daughter dive right into the fray … Luke gathered what Force he could get his hands on and shoved back, batting the encroaching flames away._ Leia knows what she's doing! If you deny that now, she'll never be able to work with your Imperials and she'll never forgive you, either! _

As if to make the young Jedi's point, a slightly shell-shocked grand admiral cleared his throat. Tigellinus visibly could have done with some indication from his superior how to deal with the proposed plan, but when no cues were forthcoming from the Sithlord, he made up his own mind and even managed to make his protestations, that it would be an honor to carry her on his flagship – an offer the princess politely declined – sound more than perfunctory.

The very suggestion, on the other hand, made Wedge cut in with, "No offense, Highness, but Rogue Squadron will come along, too."

While the grand admiral bristled predictably, Leia smiled at the lanky Corellian but shook her head. "I appreciate the concern, Commander Antilles, but we do not have the time for a lengthy discussion in the Council – and such a high-profile joint mission would surely draw one."

The commander of said ace fighter squadron bared teeth. "Then we shouldn't unduly bother them."

_That _earned him a heavy frown. "Are you asking me to go behind the Council's back and authorize a mission of this importance unilaterally?!"

"Not at all, ma'am," Wedge gave back, his usually faint Corellian drawl suddenly as pronounced as Jix's on the verge of mischief, "I'll simply give the guys a call, telling them to get to – what system are you going to stage your fleet in, just outside Wakeelmui? – 'cause I feel better to have them where I can keep an eye on them. Wouldn't do for them to grow bored in these days of sudden peace, away from their commander's supervision, now would it?"

If Tigellinus _had_ planned to draw together his fleet at Wakeelmui, now he obviously no longer did so. Before he could comment, though, the deep mechanic baritone cut in, tone metallically flat and dry as the Dune Sea.

"So this is the secret behind Rogue Squadron's remarkable list of successes: unpredictability to the point where your own High Command has no idea where you'll turn up next."

Wes, Luke was sure, would have quipped something like _'and we're great with the ladies, too'_ (truth to be told, that particular gift _had_ proven decisive for a mission or two), but Wedge merely said, "Among other things, yes."

Tigellinus snidely remarked under his breath that the _"Rogues"_ were evidently aptly named, but offered no further protest.

Leia sighed and put on a diplomatic smile with deliberate effort.

"In the spirit of cooperation, may I borrow Colonel Fel and his Sabers as well? As he has worked alongside Rogue Squadron before" – Tigellinus did a noticeable double-take at that revelation – "it might smoothen ruffled feathers to have them fly side by side again."

_Including, _Luke suspected,_ Alliance ones, if the story was spun backwards and the Rogues presented as the counterweight to Fel and his Interceptors instead of the other way round._

Additional forces for his daughter's protection were instantly granted by the Sithlord, of course.

Also mollified by the prospect of having the elite squadron under his command, the grand admiral took his leave to give the orders to have the Oversector Fleet move out, and, apart from a minimal flicker of eyes towards Wedge, kept an even tone when he promised, "Coordinates for the rendezvous point will be transmitted presently, Your Highness."

Once Tigellinus had left the room, Leia turned back at Lord Vader. "If there is nothing else of immediate urgency, we will take our leave, too ...?"

The Sithlord shook his head. "Nothing of such priority, Princess."

Leia nodded, apparently satisfied, and almost turned towards the door, before her head came up again. "What are you going to do about the thing Isard buried in the Manarai Mountains, the one nobody seems to know anything about except that it is most likely _not_ the planetary shield generator it is officially supposed to be?"

"How big a _'thing'_ are we talking about here, anyway?" Jix included himself into the discussion (Luke rather admired his restraint to have kept silent for so long).

When Lord Vader didn't deign to answer immediately[1], Leia did so in his stead. "Fifteen to twenty-five kilometers long, about five to ten wide and two to three deep."

"That's about the size of your flagship," Han commented, not to be left out. He eyed the Sithlord shrewdly. "You want to keep her here in case you need to glass that thing before it blows a hole through the crust, right?"

* * *

[1] Ignoring the querulous Corellian on occasion was likely a vital survival technique required to keep the man as an agent – Jix's survival, that was.

* * *

A/N: Look up "Ghost division" for a RL example of an elite unit moving faster than their own High Command could keep track of. Short-term, it can be devastatingly effective; long-term, it's not such a good idea because your supply lines won't keep up either ….


	46. Revelations

For a moment, Luke had the surreal mental picture of another super star destroyer hidden under the mountains going through his head. He dismissed the image quickly enough: for one, no ship this size could enter an atmosphere without bad things happening to both the ship and the atmosphere; and secondly, the _Lady_'s self-awareness was a byproduct of her sheer size, not an intended feature, if he'd understood Piett correctly and the young Jedi shuddered at the thought of what being encased in stone would do to an entity created for interstellar space, even before _Isard_ got involved ….

He returned his attention to the situation at hand in time to hear the vocoder's deep growl pronounce, "The planetary crust beneath the Manarai Mountains is approximately forty kilometers of solid granite; the covering above this _'thing'_ is a little more than one kilometer of reconstituted rock. Unless it is capable of precisely directional destruction, it is rather unlikely to pierce the crust, instead of obliterating the nearby surface."

_That was an overly involved way of saying 'shaped charge', _Luke figured, though a gun or even an engine would fit the bill, too, technically speaking.

Watching hazel eyes narrow dangerously, the young Jedi realized belatedly that the retort had also sounded awfully like a put-down à la_ 'Keep to your ships, flyboy, and don't pretend to be a general when you have no conception of dirt-side realities.' _

Han's evident loyalty to Leia – and perhaps a certain desensitization towards Corellian attitudes, courtesy of Jix – had kept the former smuggler safe from censure by his lover's father until now, but as far as Luke could recall, Han had not directly addressed Vader since Bespin, either.

His sister's determined soprano cut off any emerging quarrel. "I happen to recall that the lower slopes of the mountains were described as "heavily populated". How much surface are we talking about and how many people?"

The gleaming black helmet shifted fractionally sidewise and Gen. Ashen spoke up, his first words since entering the room[1]. "During the night, the respective area has been evacuated. If an eruption of any kind were to occur, the death rate should be minimized, Your Highness."

Leia's eyes swept from general to Sithlord and back, a little taken aback but pleasantly so.

"Good to hear, General. Well, if it has lain beneath the mountains for years and not as much as twitched during the last twenty-four hours," her tone turned clearly querying and their father inclined his head in the negative, "then I suppose it'll keep for yet another day while more pressing issues get addressed.

Lord Vader, if you could have the _Valiant_ forewarned of the changed situation while we return to her, it would save some time. The _Executor_ is already aware, I expect. I hope to be back by this time tomorrow. May the Force be with us, gentlemen."

The princess inclined her head regally, got bows or, in Vader's case, a similar nod in return and swept from the room.

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About half a corridor from the landing bay – and therefore the surface of the Palace – their swift exit hit a minor snag when Jix made the attempt to nonchalantly drift away from the Alliance group.

When red armor and an irritated general blocked the Corellian's path and the latter rolled his shoulders and smirked like a smug dragon, Luke gave in to the urge to knead his forehead. "Jix, knock it off. There is no prize for antagonizing as many generals in a row as possible.…"

Lord Vader's agent looked down on his master's son with good-humored derision in his eyes. "You wouldn't know, kid."

Then the playful look vanished and Jix deigned to explain, "I'll get an ear on the ground, find out how people _here_ are taking the recent changes. If I walk into a bar and have a drink or two, I'll get much closer to what the crowd in general is really thinking than what any of them," a dismissive wave included grey uniforms and red or white armor alike, "will ever get to hear."

Dark eyes bored deep into blue ones before Leia nodded sharply. "General, let the man leave for the city, if you will. The rest of us have a flight to catch."

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An even dozen of TIE Interceptors lived up to their name right outside the atmosphere and arranged themselves in a neat escort formation around the Lambda shuttle.

Red stripes along their dagger-shaped wings confirmed the identification sent ahead but Luke was fighter pilot enough to see Black Two – _he really needed to get his sister in here, she would have charmed the name off the man in no time flat!_ – tensed for evasion until the _Lady'_s humongous bulk blocked out most of the starscape ahead.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Leia turned up in the cockpit, too, took one look at the TIEs surrounding them and said, "Hail the _Valiant_ for me, please, I will need to explain our escorts."

Then the princess turned her head back and told the men trailing after her, "Commander Antilles, once you've made your call, will you see to it that Colonel Fel and his men get some accommodations for the flight to Shwuy?"

Wedge assured her he would, Leia thanked first him and then the copilot for getting Cpt. Unak on the comm and started explaining.

By the time they reached the _Valiant_, the _Lady_ had cut off most of the tractor beams and was using the rest to maneuver the light cruiser towards her bow where the _Valiant _could fire up her own engines without clashing with the shields protecting the_ Lady's_ bridge tower. Black Two wisely stayed out of the path of tractor beams that were tugging a capital ship and made for the side-hangar they had started in, despite the fact that the interceptors kept right up.

The frontmost pair – Fel and his wingman, Luke was pretty sure – even preceded the Lambda into the hangar, wedging themselves into the corner beside the _Falcon_ while another pair kept pace with the shuttle and lined up along the walls. The rest of the squadron thankfully waited until the shuttle had dropped off her passengers and departed again, before they squeezed in, too.

While slightly bemused Mon Calamari hangar techs went to work to stack a dozen ten-by-ten fighters into the smallish hangar under the wary eyes of their pilots, Wedge took off at a run towards the Bridge and its comm station and Gen. Madine eyed the whole scene from the sidelines. From the corners of his eyes, the young Jedi saw Han exchange a long speaking look with Chewie before the latter huffed softly and leaned back against the ship he had been tinkering with – apparently there was trust in their new allies' good behavior and then there was the _Falcon_ ….

They had barely left the hangar when the Alliance intelligence chief fell into step beside Leia when the princess made her way towards the Bridge, too.

"I didn't want to mention this on a com-line, no matter how secure," Madine said conversationally, "but the _Executor_ sent over a transponder code to ensure there won't be any misunderstandings when we meet up with the rest of the Oversector Central fleet."

Luke nearly walked into Han when the Corellian brought himself up sharply. "They did _what_?!"

The young Jedi could empathize with the incredulous tone. The IFF codes were hardware-encrypted and while the signal would be faked to fool a cursory glance, usually it was easier to make off with a ship than the respective transponder codes.

"Sent over a shuttle with an IFF transponder and detailed instructions how to hook it up aboard. It marks us down as the **_IMC_**_ Valiant_ and a member of Death Squadron, true, but it seems to be the genuine article."

A curt gesture dismissed the topic. "Your Highness, there are a few details about the situation in the Shwuy sector that I could use clarification for …."

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They were in hyperspace enroute to Wakeelmui (Wedge had been dead-on with his estimation of the most suitable rendezvous point) when Leia had rehashed the situation to both Ackbar's and Madine's satisfaction and vice versa – to the best of anybody's knowledge aboard, no parts of the Alliance were presently active in the Shwuy sector but truly current information was too scarce to really know.

With nothing much to do for the next couple of hours, the young Jedi then proposed a round of caf, intent on getting Zev and Leia into a quiet corner without witnesses – Han already knew part of the story, so (hopefully) he wouldn't freak at the younger Veers' ancestry and if the timing held, Wedge would still be busy with Fel and the Sabers. R2, of course, was trundling along to reinforce the _'without witnesses' _part.

The plan held until they'd fetched their cups and were retracing their steps towards Leia's cabin – the largest they had and less muggy than the main mess on a Mon Cal ship climate-controlled to their native needs, as Luke had pointed out truthfully. They hadn't quite made it there yet, though, when they all but ran into Wedge, coming towards them with such an odd expression on his face, it set off all kinds of alarms at the back of the young Jedi's mind, and never mind the fact that the Force seemed unperturbed, at present.

"Luke, you were a great commander for the Rogues – I never got why you would give that up. But now I know: it's not a job you can hold when you can't be sure where your priorities lie," the lanky Corellian started ominously.

Then he turned at the princess. "I don't think it'll be an issue for this mission – unless Vader's playing false and then we have bigger problems – but if you'd prefer I step down right now …."

"What I would prefer, Wedge, is an explanation what brought this up, so suddenly," Leia gave back firmly. "Why don't you come in and tell me?"

Still looking faintly shell-shocked, the Rogues commander – _and they wouldn't accept any other, his predecessor was certain, it had been hard enough for Luke to disentangle himself, just _what _was Wedge thinking!_ – allowed himself to be herded into the princess's cabin, took an absent sip from the cup someone had pressed into his hands and started explaining.

"I had – _have!_ – an older sister who left home when I was just a kid – 'bout seven, I think. My parents never mentioned her again and by the time they died when our home was destroyed, I wasn't quite sure if she'd even been real. Turns out, yes, she was, and she ran away at seventeen to become an actress and made her career under the name of Wynssa Starflare."

Maybe the young Jedi's perspective on nasty surprises in the family tree was a bit skewed, but he really couldn't see what the big deal was about a first-class holo actress for an unexpectedly rediscovered sister, even if she'd mimed getting rescued by various Imperial propaganda heroes a few times.

Luke's sister proved her immeasurably superior people skills by catching on immediately. "Who married Baron Soontir Fel not quite three years ago."

_Oh. That would do it. _Wedge and his brother-in-law had probably tried to kill each other even more often than Luke and his father had _– and how's **that **for skewed if that yardstick even applies to family relations?!_

Other people were a lot harder to convince, though.

"Did Fel tell you that, just now?" Han's tone was fairly dripping with skepticism.

Wedge shook his head. "He asked for a word in private and said he had a question to ask that might sound very odd: did the nickname _'Sysa'_ mean anything to me?"

A half-smile of bitter-sweet reminiscence. "My sister's name is Syal, but as a kid I got that mixed up with _'sister'_ and always called her Sysa. Fel must have read the reaction off my face – he said that his wife had warned him before the wedding that she'd been born Syal Antilles and that he might not want to associate with someone of that name when I had just become known for a rebel ace. She couldn't – or maybe _wouldn't_ – tell him for sure that we are related, _Antilles_ isn't a common name on Corellia but it isn't extremely rare, either, and until then she'd thought her brother had died along with her parents …. Careers and lives have been wrecked over less."

A deep breath. "Didn't scare him off, obviously."

The lanky Corellian took another deep breath and let it out in an almost self-depreciating huff. "He said, once the two of us had met face-to-face on Dravian's, he tried to see a family resemblance but couldn't find one; not until I showed the Sabers the ready room just now – apparently his wife has a certain look when she suspects he's about to do something stupid, and when I wondered if I should leave them alone down there, I looked right the same."

"So you have found some family you thought lost, if in unlooked-for places – I would consider that good news, still," Leia said – and if there was some brittleness in her Force-presence, none of it showed in her voice. "From what I know, Colonel Fel is a decent man, all things considered."

Wedge made a sharp barking noise. "That's not the problem – hells, things would be much easier if he was the sort of bloodthirsty fanatic propaganda – theirs _and _ours – likes to paint him. No, I've lost enough family – I'm not sure I can shoot Fel if it comes to that again!"

Leia opened her mouth to protest and the ace pilot cut her off with a heated gesture. "I heard what Madine said last night – and what he _didn't _say. If the Empire is at risk of breaking into pieces, the Alliance is right behind it. There is no guaranty it _won't _come to that again!"

From a previously silent corner came a derisive snort.

"You think you are the only one with family on the wrong side of the frontlines if it comes to war again?!" Zev asked challengingly, if half rhetorically.

Before anyone could answer, the younger Veers got up and walked over, towering over the seated commander, and struck out his hand as if in greeting. "Welcome to the club. My name is Zevulon Marcus Veers."

Wedge had automatically reached for the proffered appendage but now he froze in mid-movement. "Like …?"

"Yes, that one. My father."

"Nine hells!" the Correlian commander said with feeling and then shook the offered hand. "I …,"

Wedge frowned. "Who knows about this?"

"Everyone in this room. No one else."

"And some only learned just now," Han drawled. He cocked his head sidewise to give the younger Veers a considering look. "Figures, though."

A thoughtful pause. "Anyone thought to tell _you,_ yet, that the reports about your old man's death were a tad exaggerated?"

Wedge made a choked noise and Leia hissed, "Han!" but Luke wasn't sure if she was upset about the ex-smuggler spilling the news or doing so in such a tactless fashion.

Zev merely nodded tightly. "Yes, I know."

"Good." Han ran inquisitive eyes across the assembled group. "Anyone else having some shocking revelation they want to share?"

He wasn't even really looking at the young Jedi; perhaps the fact that Luke and Leia were siblings didn't count as shocking when they behaved that way, anyway. Or perhaps Leia's safety was still that paramount in Han's mind. Or a rare kernel of Corellian tact was unwilling to divulge a secret that wasn't known to all of those involved to outsiders.

Whatever Han's reasons were, the young Jedi had his own.

Luke kept silent.

* * *

[1] Luke wondered briefly how many of the moffs had even noticed the general's presence or if he had just faded into the background with the rest of the guards, beneath notice in every sense of the words. The attitude seemed quite pervasive on Coruscant – except for the Emperor, cold dread reminded the young Jedi, who'd taken his own measures concerning the ignored-but-alert-witnesses problem.


	47. Transition

The young Jedi still felt bad about keeping his friends in the dark, but the discomfort was alleviated somewhat when Zev, who knew the other half of Luke's precarious heap of secrets, showed no indications that he expected the latter to speak up, either.

A few seconds later, the moment was gone, anyhow, as Leia asked Wedge if he would inform the Rogues about his newly found relatives, too.

The Corellian commander looked as conflicted as Luke had just felt.

"No," he said slowly, "I want to but ... Tycho would understand, Wes _wouldn't_ and …."

The lanky Corellian gestured wildly in frustration. "The only reason why combing through the wreckage beside the Sabers ever worked – beside the sheer shock of _Vader_, of all people, calling a truce – was that we'd played hard to get with the Imps all over Endor, to keep unengaged enough to dive into the Death Star the moment it became unshielded, and so there was no fresh blood between us. And that was a rescue mission; flying _combat _with_ Fel,_ that'll be tricky enough. We lost some good pilots against him and his men – killed some of his, too, of course ..."

The princess nodded in understanding. "Letting the past be past is necessary if we want to achieve peace, but it is far from easy. I know that all too well."

The tone was far too commiserating – as opposed to simply sympathetic – for the young Jedi's peace of mind, but the question, of whether Leia _still _saw the man who'd tortured her when facing Vader, was one to be discussed in_ real_ privacy.

Wedge, on the other hand, had relaxed somewhat at the reassurance that he wasn't being unreasonable – and promptly jumped at another tricky point. "I feel like I should tell _Madine_."

"You might already get into hot water for going on an unauthorized mission; should someone start digging for dirt on you in earnest, keeping this information secret from your superiors could cause you some serious harm," the princess admitted.

"Which he didn't, though," Han cut in, more teeth than humor in his grin, "the very first general the commander met after finding out, he told him immediately."

Hazel eyes regarded his fellow Corellian with a look the ex-smuggler usually reserved for Luke (or occasionally Zev, more recently). "No one can blame you, Hotshot, if I'm a bit particular with when and to whom I spread the good news."

Wedge opened his mouth, closed it, and finally said softly, "Thanks, pal."

Then he resolutely changed the topic. "So, just to make sure I heard that right: Veers – _the Hoth general_ – is still alive?!"

"Yes, he is," Leia said and her expression held no regrets about that fact, nor did it encourage anyone else to voice them, either. Not the most cordial declaration of friendship but enough to put the worst of Zev's misgivings at rest, Luke could see from the corners of his eyes. _Well, that's a check on the original plan for this meeting, at least._

"Huh." The Corellian commander took a few seconds to digest that and then questioned, "What did he play dead for?"

"Politics, I guess," Han drawled, eyes once again avoiding the young Jedi, "Vader is a force unto his own, but when Vader's general got too popular, it probably ruffled some feathers.

'Specially," he went on thoughtfully, "an upstart general who – from all I heard – wasn't too chummy with all that top brass whose main qualification was ten thousand years of upper crust ancestors propping them up – no offense, Your Highnessness."

A quick side glance hit the younger Veers. "Odds are, you're lucky the kid turned up when he did, before anyone figured that your father's son would make the easiest target."

Luke had learned by now that the ex-smuggler listened a lot more carefully and consequently picked up much more information than most people gave him credit for, but the rest of the room stared a bit at Han's unexpected knowledgeableness.

Zev shook himself out of the amazement with commendable speed, though.

"Not really," he said, teeth bared in a smirk that reminded the young Jedi strongly of the elder Veers, "I was set up to take the fall for _Skywalker's _escape before Luke was anywhere near the ship – don't think I earned that sort of enmity on my own merit."

While reactions varied from Han's "Ouch," to Wedge's grimace to Leia's deep frown – and Luke's own grimace because he remembered only too well how relentlessly Vader had pursued him – Zev's smirk went wider. "Except with Skywalker _being _Skywalker ... plans derailed."

_And the beauty of that deflection is, it is all true …. _

"Huh," Wedge said again and then added, turned at the younger Veers. "Guess, that's another thing we have in common, then – short, blond farmboy coming out of nowhere, right when it feels like half of the Empire is about to come down on you, says _'ah, no worries, I used to bullseye womprats from a skyhopper'_ and inexplicably manages to pull you out of that tight spot."

Zev sent another disbelieving look at the next Corellian but then laughed. "He didn't quite say _that, _but I think I know what you mean."

"I _never _said that!" Luke protested, not that anyone took notice, even R2 was chortling by then.

But at least the conversation went for less tense topics afterwards.

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An MC-40's superior hyperspeed compared to any Imperial capital ships allowed the _Valiant_ to make an additional stop enroute to Wakeelmui with no one the wiser. Given Grand Admiral Tigellinus' lack of enthusiasm towards Rogue Squadron's participation in the mission, Wedge had summoned his fellow X-wing pilots towards an empty stretch of space where the Hydian Way passed from Core to Colonies, for the _Valiant_ to pick them up and stow them discreetly in her main hangar before jumping right into the middle of the Oversector Central fleet.

Nonconformist manners aside, the Rogues were the most successful fighter squadron of the Alliance for a reason and they had done as asked without questions. When the light cruiser returned to realspace, it took a hail by their commander for a wide circle of metallic flickers to power up their engines and become recognizable fighter craft ready to pounce on any hostiles.

Luke thought he could see a spark of respect in Fel's otherwise carefully impassive face when the Imperial ace pilot watched the display beside his brother-in-law.

"Alright, Rogues, follow Control to the main hangar," Wedge sent off his squadron, before leaving the Bridge for said hangar, Fel and the young Jedi in his wake.

They arrived just in time to see the X-wings swoop through the mag-field with their achingly familiar bird-of-prey grace, before getting picked up by the internal tractor beams to stow them into place.

As apparently agreed on beforehand, the rest of the Sabers awaited them, too, lining up beside their leader in a formal _at ease_ stance that was anything but.

In a marked contrast to their usual casualness, the Rogues coalesced into a solid group, too, before approaching Wedge and the rest of the incongruous welcome committee a few steps beside him.

Tycho was the first to speak up. "Commander," he said, eyes flicking across the line of figures in Imperial pilot black, "I think you have been leaving things out when you called us here."

Wedge explained and the Rogues were quick to offer up strategies to protect the _Valiant_ in the midst of a possibly mixed friendly and hostile Imperial fleet; by Rogues standards they weren't even overly antagonistic, but they did, well, _show off_ as much as possible. A mutual show of grandstanding might have served to get both elite units to know each other but the already-stiff-to-start-with Imperial pilots merely went more and more stone-faced by the second.

Luke would have thought that the bumpy integration of the more straight-laced ex-Imperials over the last half a year would have given them the experience of what set them on edge and what didn't, but faced with silent glares Rogue Squadron simply upped the ante. When someone ran an illustrative hand across the line of silhouettes adorning the flank of the nearest X-wing, an unexpected voice cut through the growing tension.

From where he was leaning, previously undetected, against a nearby shuttle, Madine called over, "Children, behave! Neither the princess nor Lord Vader will like to hear that your antics ruined the mission."

There was a moment of chastised silence that the young Jedi used to wonder what measures the ex-commando might have taken to ensure everyone behaved if mere admonishments failed to do the trick, before an incredulous sounding Wes piped up with, "Did he just threaten us with telling Mum and Dad?! Commander, tell me it wasn't so!"

_Urgh._ "Wes, for that mental image I'm tempted to go and involve Vader to set you straight."

Luke let dead-still silence stretch for a moment before adding, "Or his admiral at least. I bet the L... Executor has some reeeally long corridors that need scrubbing with a toothbrush."

From where he'd hung back (_respectfully?),_ leaving the Rogues commander to brief his unit as he saw fit, Fel confirmed, "She has," in a tone dry as the Dune Sea.

"The longest continuous stretch is over ten kilometers long" the Imperial ace went on, "too far from the hangars to get any grease slicks but some fifty thousand people move through it every day. I am sure they would point you to the spots that need the most attention."

"Oh yeah," Wes drawled back, "And how many of those people would be pretty girls? No, wait, you guys don' ..."

"Over a thousand, I'd say," the olive-skinned man next to Fel replied with a smirk.

Wedge put on a wistful expression. "Luke, you think there's a chance we could actually foist Wes on ... Piett, wasn't it? I mean, it's a big ship, maybe we could just lose him over there ..."

Wes complained bitterly about the unfairness of not only _Skywalker_ and _Fel _ganging up on him but now his own commander, too, to wide-spread snickers, not only behind his back but from some of the Sabers, too.

The ice was pretty much broken after that.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Oversector Central wasn't the largest oversector by far, but then it was Oversector **_Central _**and consequently could boast one of the largest fleets under the command of a single grand moff. Luke was reasonably sure that the three dozen Imperial stardestroyers, plus smaller ships, weren't all Tigellinus could have brought along, but save for Endor and Vader's gargantuan _let's-make-a-big-entrance_ fleet, the young Jedi had never seen as many Imperials in one place before.

Instincts honed through nearly four years as a rebel told Luke that approaching the large fleet in anything but a fast and fully battle-ready X-wing was a stupid idea and unlike Brentaal he didn't fully trust the Imperial in charge, either. Nevertheless, here he was, standing beside his sister on the Bridge of the _Valiant_, with Wedge and Fel next to him while Han and Madine flanked Leia on the other side, and awaited a (hopefully friendly) greeting by GA Tigellinus' flagship, conveniently labelled the _Avatar_ by the brand-new IFF system sitting next to a console.

They didn't have to wait long. Away from the Sithlord and at the head of his own fleet, the grand moff cum admiral was back in his element. He was polite enough to greet the princess in person instead of delegating the job to one of his underlings, but there was nothing but absolute confidence to be obeyed on his tone when Tigellinus ordered the _Valiant _to a position at the back center of his battle group, a little behind and beneath his flagship, as far from any action as could get.

In the next breath, he demanded for Saber Squadron to report.

"In the spirit of cooperation," Leia gave back in a tone that was both pleasantly polite and implacable, "please consider Saber Squadron and Rogue Squadron as a joint unit. They will fly together, today, as you will recall, Grand Admiral."

There was a pause but then came the answering order for Rogue Squadron to report, too.

If he hadn't been sitting in readiness in an X-wing in a hangar several decks away, Wes would have probably flipped him off, Hobbie would have scowled and the rest at best rolled their eyes, but Wedge merely shared a look with his brother-in-law, who tapped his com-link and pronounced, "Saber Squadron standing by. Rogue Squadron standing by. Sir."

The pale blue silhouette of GA Tigellinus nodded curtly. "Be ready to launch the moment we revert to realspace in the Uviuy Exen system. Your mission is to screen the _Valiant _against any potentially hostile fighters and protect the princess at all costs, Colonel."

A minimal pause. "Do not allow yourself to be lured away by a tempting chase – that goes for both squadrons, understood?"

"Yes, sir. Both Saber and Rogue Squadron will screen the _Valiant_ and stay with her. Sir."

Apparently satisfied, the grand admiral went on with, "Coordinates for the next jump are being sent as we speak, Your Highness. _Avatar_ will give the mark."

A half-bow and the holo-transmission closed, and when Leia inclined her head at Cpt. Unak questioningly, the Mon Calamari Captain confirmed the reception of jump coordinates and jump fleet pattern.

A few minutes later, the _Avatar_ signaled and the fleet jumped.

The false-star lines of hyperspace streaming past the Bridge viewscreens were the last thing Luke saw before he hurried down to the hangar. Uviuy Exen was only a few minutes jump away.


	48. Precipice

"To all forces of the Shwuy sector, this is Grand Admiral Tigellinus speaking: Stand down! Stand down and you need not follow Rusel into ruin. Resist and I will_ put_ _you down!"_

The message was most likely prerecorded, unless the grand admiral had awaited the end of the jump hovering at a comm station, filling all Imperial frequencies the instant the _Avatar_ reverted to realspace. For those in front of a holo-display it probably came with a matching image, but a fighter pilot had to make do with a tone that said loud and clear that Tigellinus would very much prefer the second option. Luke didn't know if that was just bolstering the threat to avoid an actual confrontation, but somehow he doubted it.

Once GA Tigellinus had given the local forces five minutes to respond or their silence would be treated as a refusal to comply, his voice was abruptly replaced by a strong soprano.

"Citizens of the Shwuy Sector," Leia began; the address threw the young Jedi for a moment before he remembered that a military commander declaring emergency could highjack all official holonet channels for his – or in this case, _her_ – announcements (if the grand admiral hadn't obliged her, Madine probably knew the trick, too). Besides, reminding the locals among the opposing forces that this was more than a battlefield they were standing in, might help to prevent some rash actions – or provoke them by driving home what was at stakes, but Luke hoped that his sister knew what she was doing.

"The Empire has changed," the princess went on while the young Jedi rounded the curved hull of the _Valiant_ to reach his allotted position above the ventral thrusters, "You need not pay the price for one man's thirst for power! You need not fight for fear! Fear of reprisals, fear of punishment for decisions you did not make yourselves! Now is the time to make your own decisions – Rusel can no longer make them for you."

Leia paused, for many, long seconds, a deliberate invitation for the named man to refute her claim but everything kept quiet and so she went on, "If he did speak for a majority of you, however, when he declared this sector better off without the Empire, your voice will be heard. You need not stay within the Empire if that is truly what you wish to do – but to stand alone is always a vulnerable position. …"

While both Rogue and Saber Squadron took positions in a loose escort formation around the _Valiant_, alternating flights of Alliance and Empire aces and with Luke as the odd man out sitting midway between the first flights of either squadron, the young Jedi listened with one ear to the impassionate speech his sister gave on the main frequencies, while keeping track of the surrounding fighters on their specific channel.

He heard Fel's calm baritone order his squadron to report in and Wedge followed suit about a second later. When everyone had, more or less formally, declared themselves ready and in position, they settled in to wait. Escort missions were the bane of any fighter pilot's existence for a reason – no one liked to crawl along docilely beside a capital ship and that was without half of them conditioned to consider top speed and wild maneuverings the only viable state of being among that much of Imperial stardestroyer grey. At the edge of vision, Luke could see some of the X-wings rolling from side to side, releasing their pilots' need for more movement in some small, perhaps even subconscious way.

The young Jedi used the time to take a good look at his surroundings. The _Valiant_ was the only ship around sporting a fighter screen but as the single Mon Cal cruiser among a fleet of Kuat's Finest, she would have stood out anyway. All around – but mostly before them – Oversector Central Fleet had been arranged into a fairly standard sort of formation, a lightly staggered diamond that wasn't the best in terms of mobility but arrayed firepower and durasteel armor for maximum effect. Luke could still spot a handful of places where a good pilot in a fast and agile ship could have drawn two or even three stardestroyers into firing at each other (not that the same wasn't true for most Imperial formations), but as an ostentatious show of strength, it would certainly do.

If Tycho had not come up with the idea to have their astromechs identify the ships of the Oversector Central Fleet as friendlies manually and fade them into the background – a list to include the _Valiant_, too, as they'd found out: since the cruiser was currently squawking an Imperial IFF code, the automatic targeting system aboard the X-wings marked her down as a hostile – the targeting screen in front of the young Jedi would have shown little useful information for all the, well, _target-rich_ environment.

Leia finished her initial entreaty and everyone had stayed nonaggressive. Luke could only hope that this meant success in convincing her addressees that a peaceful solution was not only possible but desired, there was just no way how he could _read_ a whole system, let alone a sector, and the Force had been poised on the edge of precipice since Coruscant – which was _no help at all!,_ for the most positive outcome would be a momentous event as much as a really bad one.

No one had reacted to _either _announcement, though, and with less than a minute to spare of the ultimatum, Tigellinus promptly used the opportunity to retake the floor and remind the local forces of the time.

White-hot plasma flickered through space and cut him off mid-word in a jarring hiss of static.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

On hindsight, it was dreadfully obvious: the young Jedi had never seen a formation as ... _huddled_ as the opposing fleet, a solid knot of red on his targeting screen, too dense to pick apart different ships from the distance and consequently too dense to discover what lay behind.

_Ion cannon._

The _Avatar _tumbled, hit by the edge of the plasma stream that had taken the stardestroyer before her full force; half of her thrusters disabled while the rest still pushed her forward, she almost veered into the crippled ship.

The _Valiant _was moving before the flagship had caught herself, darting sidewise with an agility none of the other capital ships surrounding her could have matched, to keep as much friendly Imperial armor between herself and the new danger as possible.

_Madine's doing, no doubt, with Ackbar probably supporting him,_ the young Jedi thought grimly while the assorted fighters stuck close to their charge, helpless against a weapon potent enough to take out capital ships, that would fry both fighter and pilot on a direct hit. Leia would hate the let-others-take-the-hits approach but was realist enough to grudgingly accept their point and right now his sister was distracted, anyway.

Whatever else could be said about them, Oversector Central Fleet did not need nearly four minutes to decide what to do when their leader was apparently out of the fight. Green plasma blanketed out Luke's view of the local fleet – and there were ten stardestroyers instead of six, _that he could see!_ – for a moment, before his sister's sharp command not to shoot at anyone not shooting back filled the lines, trying to stem all-out battle by sheer force of will.

To a degree, she succeeded. The firestorm wavered, allowing the local fleet to spread out sidewise – the young Jedi wasn't sure if they were trying to flank Tigellinus or merely sidling towards the edge of his interdictors' range – and then a third stardestroyer joined the_ Avatar_ and the first victim, rendered dead-in-space uncomfortably close to where the light cruiser had just been.

The ion victims were the only loyalist Imperials not to retaliate. Uviuy Exen's image warped and wavered as the planetary shield started to take hits.

_Shutter shield,_ a peripheral part of Luke's mind identified, watching the patterns of energy dispersed. _Shutter shield and ion cannon, that's Hoth all over again, except seen from the wrong side._

One of the newer Rogues, Alderaani but the name escaped the young Jedi presently, was obviously thinking along similar lines. "I would _never _have thought I'd ever say this, but where's Veers when just once you'd need him?"

"Unlike Hoth or even Endor, Uviuy Exen is a densely populated world," Fel replied, quickly countered by Hobbie's pessimistic, "I doubt that would make a difference to Veers – or the admiral."

"At the very least," the colonel went on with a slight edge on his voice, "the difference is that Uviuy has a full planetary shield. Taking out this ion cannon is not merely a matter of setting down somewhere in the wilderness and marching towards the sole large energy signature on the planet!"

A skeptical voice at the back of Luke's mind (sounding disturbingly like Han) promptly pointed out that maybe there had been only one target on Hoth, but since the ion cannon had been standing right next to it, every ship gunning for the base by necessity came into the firing arc of the cannon. Things did not work that way if you were defending a whole planet, though, and even if the ion cannon was meant to only protect the capital, it would have been a phenomenal stroke of luck for planetary rotation to line up the latter with the approaching fleet at the exact moment of the battle. A gun that could take out a stardestroyer in one shot was the size of a small mountain, on the other hand; it wasn't exactly mobile ….

_But what is an asteroid if not a space-borne rock the size of a mountain?_

The young Jedi reached for his comm. "Leia, the ion cannon must be on a space station – a sort of Golan or a modified asteroid. We can't do anything useful here but taking that thing down might be just the job for us. Can you convince the grand moff …?"

She could. Technically speaking, Vader had lent the Sabers to her, after all, and the Rogues only ever flew with the Imperials for the princess.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The plan was relatively simple: find the segment of the shield that opened up to let the ion blast past, sneak in with the next shot and take out the ion cannon. If Luke's conjecture was true and the said cannon was mounted on an orbital platform just underneath the shield, the explosion of its power generator would greatly weaken the shield as a side effect, enough for Oversector Central Fleet's combined firepower to break through (hopefully, at that point, they would cease firing and not cover the planet in molten rock, but that was Leia's province).

The young Jedi was reasonably sure that between the Force and R2's analysis of the sensor data, he would locate the respective shield segment soon enough. Skill and speed for the Sabers, skill and not quite as much speed but shields that allowed them closer to the plasma stream without frying for the Rogues, should see them in. None of the latter had carried missiles on arrival – less plausible deniability for going on an unauthorized mission if you raided the armory first – but the advantage of being a bona fide carrier was that the _Valiant _stocked everything necessary to equip the X-wings; the Sabers had come with a full complement of armaments, including two concussion missiles each, so Luke was pretty confident about the last part of the plan, too.

No plan had ever survived contact with the enemy, of course, but adapting as the situation required was what Rogue Squadron specialized in and Fel was no slouch at that, either. For now, the two squadrons were approaching the planet in a wide curve to keep them out of the various lines of fire.

As they came closer, the Rogues started to chatter animatedly, which was not that unusual, except that they were using callsigns instead of names. The Sabers kept flying in professional if increasingly bemused silence, until Wes complained that "Half of my targeting screen is full of squints, am I the only one who finds that annoying?" and proceeded to interview Rogue Zero – the designation Luke had been stuck with for the occasion – through to Rogue Twelve for their opinion.

He was about halfway through the list before Fel cut in with "Saber Leader to Rogue Leader, send over Rogue Five, he can fly with us, that should give him a more balanced screen," and then ordered the first two flights of his squadron into new positions, one by one. Dutifully, every single TIE pilot responded with "Saber X to Saber Leader, acknowledged."

The two squadrons were communicating on an open channel, in the band reserved for fighter units but unencrypted. It was the easiest way to communicate between them, seeing how their secured channels were specifically designed to be undecipherable to the other and neither side was quite ready yet to share _that_ kind of secrets.

It also meant that by the time an unseemly grateful sounding Wedge said, "Rogue Leader to Rogue Five, off you go, Wes," every entity in the system that had access to a comm unit capable of receiving Imperial military channels, was aware that the two most legendary fighter squadrons in the galaxy were on the prowl.

Together.

The Rogues had done this before, spreading rumors of their presence to scare an opponent into making mistakes and the Empire had never been shy to proclaim where Baron Fel was hunting for rebels, either, so presumably he knew the game, too.

It worked like a charm this time, too.

"Minefield activating. Just lit up on the scans, sir," Saber Two – _Fel's wingman, wasn't it?_ – reported barely a minute later.

"Mines, huh?" Wes had to pipe up, "Well, finders, keepers. They're all yours."

The easiest way was by no means the only one, naturally. The scrambling code they had whipped up from scratch was a bit quick-and-dirty, and since it was probably still illegal to upload an unauthorized program on a piece of Imperial military hardware there was no encrypted channel that connected _both _squadrons and either Fighter Control, but the Rogues and Sabers could communicate privately just fine.


	49. Orbital

Happy New Year, if that fits your calendar.

_the mummer's folly_ volunteered for sounding board for this chapter. Thanks for that.

* * *

Luke could see where that low opinion on mines came from: they were mindless enough not to offer much of a challenge but at the same time lethal enough that a moment's inattention might prove fatal, making them something of a tedious danger. But then, Wes saw any piece of Imperial military hardware – up to and including uniforms – and registered: _Enemy_. The young Jedi didn't think the sheer possibility of shades of grey, of a sector's worth of Imps turned opposition _less than voluntarily_ by **_one_** overzealous maniac opening fire, had really sunk in for the Taanabian pilot. Nor, consequently, how much preferable a lifeless obstacle was to a live opponent, when the overarching goal of the mission was to bring things to an ultimately peaceful end.

Tycho, on the other hand, likely shared Luke's point of view. The Alderaani wasn't usually much of a gambler, nor as compulsively competitive that he was loath to let the Imperials take all of _anything_ on principle, and yet he was quick to chip in with, "Ignore Wes, we all do that. Ten creds say, a Rogue scores the most mines – Zero excluded, 'cause, sorry Luke, everyone knows you're cheating. But you can play referee …."

"You're on, Rogue Two," Saber Five gave back in a deep rumble; neither of the squadron leaders disagreed and for a few minutes the young Jedi could simply throw himself into the Force-bright joy that was flying. R2 dutifully kept count for both squadrons, with no visible tally for Luke's score, but the astromech's cheerful whistling with every mine exploding under the young Jedi's shots was confirmation enough that he might have made the competition a little one-sided.

With the mines detected well beyond their own proximity triggers but easily within in reach of fighter cannons, and with twenty-five ace pilots vying for the highest hit count, the two squadrons cut a swath through the field that would have fit a stardestroyer. The interceptors had enough of a speed advantage to include some crazy spins for the largest target area, but had less control with their six guns for individual fire than the X-wings. All in all, that made for a thoroughly mixed and constantly shifting score list and, before long, cheers for especially spectacular hits regardless of affiliation. The Alderaani knack for diplomacy was obviously not limited to the ruling classes, Luke concluded happily.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Seeing one's defenses go up in flames was admittedly even more daunting than merely hearing some elite forces approach; utter terror was a likely reason for the enemy commander's next decision. Just as likely, however, was that he had learned from his mistake – after all, mines in the distance ahead were much easier to take care of than mines close by all around, a situation he could have forced on the Rogues and Sabers if the field had not gone active until they were right inside it.

In either case, from one moment to the next, the Force was screaming.

"Spread out!" the young Jedi added his own shout. On hindsight, he was deeply awed by the amount of trust both friends and former enemies displayed by following his words without the slightest hesitation.

Diving, _split up_, right into the still active parts of the minefield made for a hair-raising minute afterwards, even if it removed the two squadrons from the path of an ion shot coming straight towards them. On the plus side, though, the passing plasma bolt had fried the remaining mines between the shield and their previous position as thoroughly as it would have any fighter.

Fel was the first to address the opportunity – _or trap_.

"Another shot coming, Skywalker?" he barked, interceptor skidding through impossible spins that Luke could only see from the corners of his eyes while he dealt with _that one mine_ that just wouldn't get shaken. A cloud of splinters later, the young Jedi risked a second of trying to feel further afield.

"Not immediately!" he called back.

No fools, both squadrons raced down the cleared lane as fast as their ships would take them, not slowing until the blurry sphere of the planetary shield was right before them and they had spread to a distance that made hitting more than one of them with the same ion cannon shot impossible.

_Time to look for our way in …._

Sensors could not be trusted past a shield, so there was no way to pinpoint the ion cannon behind it except by retracing the angles of its shots. Angles that showed, as R2 displayed with an apologetic twitter, that the gun platform must have moved between the first shots at the fleet and the last one.

_Pinpointing a _moving _unseen target, then – lovely._ Luke sunk himself into the Force as deeply as he dared, hoping for a hint.

Unfortunately, the Fire Controls of Oversector Central Fleet could do the math just as well as the astromech and were adjusting their aim for the barrage pelting the shield accordingly. The hailstorm of turbolaser fire advancing on them did bad things for the young Jedi's concentration.

And yet, for some unfathomable reason the Force seemed to want him _closer _to that deadly curtain of green plasma.

Luke gulped, prayed to every entity that might listen that he was not misreading things, turned his X-wing the way no sane pilot would have chosen and advised two dozen friends and allies to "Follow me. And … trust me."

For better or worse, they did. By the time the young Jedi had pulled all power from the lasers to transfer half into the forward shields and redirect half to the engines for some extra speed, both Rogues and Sabers were trailing after him in flat V formations, keeping pace evenly.

Green plasma was looming closer and closer ahead, past the point where R2 was starting to make distressed noises. Luke pressed on until finally common sense and the Force agreed that _forward_ was no longer the right direction and he pulled up sharply, climbing vertically along the wall of incoming fire. For an endless second, it felt like the most senseless maneuver in the history of space combat but then R2 tweeted triumphantly, indicating a section of the shield they had just overflown starting to rearrange.

The young Jedi pulled back further, turning the perpendicular ascent into a loop, saw white-hot plasma miss the nose of his fighter by what felt like an arm's length, kept going and shot down like a falling star, straight through the opened segment of the shield.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Uviuy Exen was dark. A thin crescent on one side was illuminated by the last of daylight, the rest was shadowy clouds and glittering city lights.

It took Luke a couple of seconds to reorient himself enough to spot the most likely platform for the ion cannon. It _was_ an asteroid, not a space station; an expanse of very dark, almost black rock a few dozen kilometers wide and across, looming ghostly against the backdrop of Uviuy Exen's nightside. It might have been a natural satellite of the planet once, before someone had fused a skirt of starship engines to the moonlet and installed anti-capital ship weaponry.

The sight made the young Jedi realize that he had miscalculated badly. Whatever stable orbit the captured asteroid might have had, now it had moved as far back from the shield as possible, skimming the edge of atmosphere, with only the flaring skirt of engines keeping it from a headlong plunge.

Whoever blew up that ion cannon _now_, could add a few billions to their bill; if any substantial pieces of that _'space-borne mountain'_ remained after the explosion, their impacts on the planet would throw up firestorms that scoured the surface clean of any life!

As if to reinforce the thought, the comm crackled to life on the open channel.

"Call back your rebel friends, Colonel Fel," an unknown voice demanded haughtily, "especially their pet Jedi. Or go down in history with a kill count higher than Tarkin's."

Luke felt the Imperial ace go all icy contempt. The young Jedi could empathize._ Wholeheartedly!_

"Derricote," Fel said frostily.

"_General_ Derricote, if you please, _Colonel_, or _Sir_ will do. But with the company you keep these days, perhaps it is no wonder that your manners …"

While the self-styled general enjoyed the sound of his own voice, Wedge used the encrypted channel to quickly ascertained, "He the type that goes through with this?"

He got a very heartfelt "Hell, yes!" from more than one Saber.

"I make out some shared history here." For once, Wes sounded not half-mocking. "Anything we can use?"

"Used to command the One-Eighty-Worst. Lazy bastard, but not half as useless as he likes to pretend; if his own interests are on the line he can put some real smarts into it."

"Decent pilot, if he absolutely has to."

"Big on growing things but that's probably not relevant, right now."

"So, smart enough to have some fast escape vessel stashed away and not even burn with his cannon if we call his bluff. Not that I want to risk that, this place looks more urban than Alderaan, so he's probably right on the butcher's bill if things go wrong," Wedge summed up unhappily. "Luke, anything you have …?"

"I … " _wish for the first time I could do something the Emperor did and focus the Force via a comm line. _The young Jedi didn't think he could ever be a puppeteer, but shoving some heavy object at – or possibly _through_ – that double-crossing slimeball would feel delightful right now _and_ stop Derricote from using Tarkin's tactic _against the planet full of civilians he was supposed to be defending! _

_People might even think it was _Lord Vader_ attacking him from across a few thousand lightyears, _a treacherous voice at the back of Luke's mind suggested. Followed right at the heels by a deeply sobering,_ Which my father never actually did_,_ he simply has very competent agents._

The young Jedi took a slow breath and released the righteous anger into the Force. He promptly found his attention nudged towards an angular, apparently unpowered vessel drifting through a low orbit that would have it fetch up against the asteroid in a minute or two.

_Some of which are in the system already and Derricote was idiot enough to make his threats on an open channel …._

"… I might have something. Guys, play for time. For now, we are the distraction."

"Distraction, huh? But with pleasure," Wes drawled, switched to the open channel and went on, "So sorry to interrupt your dissertation on infectively bad rebel manners, Mr. General, sir, but a dopa meekie koochoo sleemo like you should first know what he's talking about before he starts lecturing. You can …"

"Wes, stay out of this!" Wedge snapped and the Taanabian went colorfully argumentative in several different languages – the Tatooine native was briefly tempted to give pointers for the Huttese.

Fel tried to get things back on an orderly track by ignoring the rebels altogether and demanding, coldly "Surrender, Derricote, or you will burn."

The Alderaani among the Rogues promptly turned on the Imperial pilot in outrage, egged on by the audibly smirking renegade general, and with the X-wings and TIE/INs hanging squabblingly above the asteroid, a small gunmetal-grey transport disappeared unnoticed into the shadows underneath.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

It took significantly less time than Luke would have expected before Derricote's querulous voice cut off with a puzzled sounding, non sequitur, "Loor? Wh…"

For a moment, the comm lines hissed emptily, before a gravelly, audibly non-human voice announced, "This der'rik'ot is no longer a threat. You want him alive, Master Skywalker, or shall he burn with his cannon?"

"Err, alive, if that's feasible. Likewise with any other prisoners you might have made." And since it was such poetic justice, the young Jedi added, "I want Leia – Princess Organa, I mean – to have him."

There was an odd sound that could have been a laugh or a cough or some swearword from a set of jaws not really built for Basic. "It will be done."

A minimal pause and the alien continued, "We can steer the cannon back towards the shield and we can cause the power generator to overload. It will take time, though, and we have found an access tunnel reaching from a large fault line along the underside of the asteroid to the generator. If the explosion starts there, part – or even most – of the force will likely spread downwards."

"So we need to give the explosion a reason to start topside? That we can do," Wedge commented grimly. "You guys just aim that rock upwards and get out, we'll do the rest."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

It took a few more minutes to steer the cumbersome gun platform back towards the shield, minutes that some local fighter units used to make their approach, as soon as gravity no longer held their planet hostage.

Fel said, "Leave them to me," in a voice still not entirely thawed from the encounter with Derricote. He took his squadron and did little more than waggle his red-stripped wings at them before they backed away hastily.

The angular transport fell away from the asteroid soon afterwards, heading for a prudent distance. The Rogues and Sabers used the cue to rise above their target. From below, the planetary shield was a smooth, milky blue-white expanse, looking deceptively like that last layer of mist before the blue sky when you broke cloud cover in atmospheric flight; an impact against it would crush a ship as surely as the black rock rising towards it, though.

The two squadrons followed the upward movement of the asteroid to keep a steady half kilometer above the canyoned surface and spread out until they had arrayed themselves into two concentric lines; just far enough from the rounded dome of the ion cannon embedded in the middle the space-borne rock to accelerate to top speed before reaching it. When the asteroid was little more than its own width away from the shield, Wedge's sharp "Go!" had them pounce.

Twenty-five fighters shot towards the ion cannon, released two missiles each and swerved aside at the last moment to speed on towards the far end of the asteroid, while the missiles impacted in two consecutive, tightly staggered waves. The X-wings had started with nearly five kilometers head start but even with every scrap of energy redirected to the engines, the interceptors were overtaking them by the time they shot out of the rapidly closing gap between shield and asteroid.

Two seconds later, the planetary shield surrounding Uviuy Exen was hit concurrently by enough rock to form a small mountain range and the energy output of a battleship-rated power generator gone critical.

Shield and rock disintegrated. Uviuy Exen acquired the beginnings of a planetary ring.

About half a minute later, the local governor surrendered unconditionally.


	50. Discussions

The angular transport fell in with the fighters returning to the_ Valiant_ like it had always been a part of their formation. Its presence added a few digs about "Master Skywalker" to the usual post-battle ribbing, but the mistake was common enough to draw no suspicion[1] and the novelty of having some Imperials to make fun of trumped the minor gag. Not that the Sabers didn't give as good as they got: Fel had countered the only half-humorous jibe that he'd gone all "Scary Imperial" to distract Derricote with an audible smirk and the blunt statement that he _was_ a scary Imperial – the Sabers had cheered loudly at that – before critiquing, chapter and verse, the gutter Corellian Wes had used in his diatribe. Luke had never before heard the Taanabian pilot sound so honestly impressed.

On their private channel, the sniping kept up until Luke and Wedge preceded the transport into the _Valiant_'s main hangar while the rest of the fighters stayed outside, with Fel in charge and the clear objective to make sure that the unknown vessel would not get away with trying anything stupid.

The welcome committee was a little more substantial than last night: this time Madine had gone for a larger number of visible soldiers surrounding him, Leia, Han and Zev. The two X-wing pilots hurried over to join the group while the transport set down in the free space before them and Luke saw the diplomatic stance settle over his sister like a well-worn cloak. Posture straight and confident, hands open and relaxed, smile gentle with no teeth showing.

The latter detail stuck with the young Jedi – what came down the landing ramp of the transport would certainly use teeth in a threat display. Shorter than Luke even if it'd straightened from its crouch, grey skin, wicked-looking claws on all four appendages and a toothy jaw that made primal parts of the young Jedi's hindbrain scream _predator_. Solid black eyes scanned the hangar before it, ships, equipment and waiting people alike, slit nostrils flared and then the alien inclined its head minutely.

Leia regally returned the nod. "Welcome aboard the _Valiant_, I am Princess Leia Organa. I take it, Lord Vader has sent you here?"

The alien bowed its head a little lower. "I am Rabakh, clan Eikh'mir," it – _probably _he_, if deep voices mean the same in this species_ – gave back, "the Lord has sent us here to take your enemies' leaders to you alive."

Following action to word, another two aliens came down the ramp and each dropped a limp body at the princess's feet. Bodies that looked half again the carriers' weight but were slung around with dismissive ease. Both Han and Zev leaned a little closer to Leia.

The princess looked down at the men deposited in front of her, then back at the ones who had laid them there. "I recognize Rusel. I assume this is the man in charge of the ion cannon?"

Black eyes blinked at her. Then a clawed hand snapped out in a sharp gesture.

"Der'rik'ot, twice betrayer of trust," Rabakh hissed, gravelly voice grown sibilant with damnation.

"He took the gun platform far below a stable orbit, to keep us off," Wedge started to explain, before the clawed hand came up again, a small recording unit in it.

_"Call back your rebel friends, Colonel Fel,"_ Derricote's haughty voice intoned again, _"especially their pet Jedi. Or go down in history with a kill count higher than Tarkin's."_

Leia's face went white marble.

"I see," she said after a few endless seconds. Even the predatory aliens crouched a little lower at her tone.

Han leaned forward to whisper something into her ear, too soft to make out from Luke's position, and his sister went even edgier for a moment before she leaned back against the tall Corellian.

"General Madine," she said stiffly, "I am sure you can find a place to keep these … _men_ securely contained until their trials."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

With the instigators of the insurgence put away safely, next came the decision what to do with the rest of the sector.

Grand Admiral/Moff Tigellinus imperiously set up that discussion aboard his flagship and Leia let him make the point. All twenty-five Rogues and Sabers encircled her shuttle until it had set down on the gleaming floor of the _Avatar_'s main hangar, but since the display served to further overawe the already terrified deputation of local officials, the grand admiral overlooked the gesture.

Tigellinus with his heavy-handed ideas of retribution and Leia with her reasonable arguments made for a bad cop-good cop duo that couldn't have worked better if they tried. The grand admiral had the attitude and the stature to glower _down_ on most of the congregation and his uniform carried an authority that everyone knew was measured in stardestroyers. The petite princess in her flowing, so clearly non-military robe checked off every visual cue for being the softer option, and then took charge of the discussion with such confident self-assurance that people quickly recognized her as an actual _option_, an equal counterweight to the belligerent grand moff.

Shwuy's representatives had gone from cowed into submission to nigh on honestly convinced that staying within the Empire was the better idea, by the time the Captain of the _Avatar_ commed his admiral about an urgent message from the _Valiant_.

Tigellinus threw a glance at Leia and found her frowning, then return the look with a raised eyebrow and a small gesture. Her brother would have understood that as _'I'm taking this seriously but it's your ship.'_

The grand admiral seemed to read something similar, he scowled at the representatives, pointed at the door and barked, "Out!"

Once the stormtroopers lining the walls of the conference room had herded them out, Tigellinus impatiently ordered the message relayed and Madine's silhouette took form on the holo-display, face grim and resolute.

After the princess had practically shoved the prisoners at the Intelligence Chief, the latter had done his job and gone to talk to them, as soon as the stuns wore off. As it happened, Derricote had been very eager to talk, on one specific topic: he _was_ 'big on growing things', as one of the Sabers had put it, but while his primary interest lay in botany, he also had quite the talent for smaller things. Enough talent for the Emperor to have taken notice and commissioned the development of many and various custom-made biological weapons. Derricote was demanding full immunity from prosecution by either the Empire or the Alliance, or everyone aboard Oversector Central Fleet and everyone they'd had contact with would die a messy death in the next few days or weeks.

"That is a bluff!" The grand admiral's reaction was as automatic as it was incredulous. "Evir's too much of a self-serving coward to kill himself, too, and besides, what would have been his vector? I expect even your forces have the smarts to search prisoners …"

"We did," a gravelly voice at his shoulder commented, "he had nothing suspicious on his body."

Tigellinus turned to find himself eye to rows of serrated teeth. He neither jumped from his seat nor shrieked at the short but lethal alien suddenly turning up beside him, but it was a near thing.

Leia graced the Imperial with a smile that _did_ show some teeth, diplomacy fraying under the impact of Madine's report. "Grand Admiral, allow me to present Rabakh, of clan Eikh'mir. He is a Noghri. Lord Vader has sent him and his team to arrest Russel prior to our arrival, and with their mission accomplished, they have attached themselves as my bodyguards until further orders arrive."

Without giving Tigellinus a chance to comment, she turned back to the holo-display. "General, I expect you have considered possible vectors?"

"Yes, Your Highness. Missiles with virus payloads. Derricote's destroyers were armed with them. We are checking all sensor data of the battle for missile hits beyond shields as we speak."

"Sutton, double-check our data!" the grand admiral reflexively snapped at his flagship captain, before he narrowed his eyes at the projected Alliance general before him. "If you _are_ taking this seriously – surely you won't yield to this attempt at blackmail? If the traitor does not volunteer information about a cure, I can …"

"Don't," the princess cut him off, voice low and dangerous. "Do not suggest something you are going to regret. I know General Madine – he is very good at asking questions and you may rest assured that he takes this absolutely seriously."

Tigellinus was no born diplomat but recognized a lethal misstep when it was about to blow up in his face.

"…verify his claims by questioning the captains of the stardestroyers that surrendered," he brought his sentence to a semi-graceful end. "We will see what _they _know …."

Leia did not feel very mollified by that, so Luke hurried to offer, "I can check if Derricote says the truth – the other captains, too, if necessary."

The Imperials collectively shot the young Jedi discomfited stares which he summarily ignored. Successfully diverted, his sister also turned her glare on him. "Luke, if this is not a bluff, the risk …"

"Leia, after Dagobah the medidroids gave me a shot of every immunization they had," – especially the second time, the _Lady_'s droid had had a truly impressive stock – "the risk for me is actually less than for anyone else around. And the sooner we make sure if and how much of this is a lie, the sooner we can take appropriate measures."

"Your input would be appreciated, Jedi Skywalker," Madine admitted, turned at the Imperial commander and advised coolly, "But with all due respect, Grand Admiral, I would not make any further transfers _to_ your ship at present. We are certain that the _Valiant _was not hit by any missiles during the battle and to the best of our knowledge the_ Avatar_ took no hits either – a fact that needs confirmation by your sensor data, of course – so unless Derricote himself is infectious, we should be clean. No such thing should be assumed about any hostile ships."

"We did not sustain any missile hits, the shields were back up when the gunships came in range," Cpt. Sutton replied promptly, and then ventured, "Sir, we have support crews on the disabled ships in the fleet – and _they_ have definitely taken hits."

"Leave them there," Tigellinus commanded. "All ships are quarantined until we know exactly what is going on. The system, too, we keep up the blockade."

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Fel might convincingly call a few millions 'acceptable losses' and a chance to lose billions a 'negligible threat', but when it came to projecting '_Scary Imperial'_, Madine had him beat, hands down.

Rusel was terrified of him. The shaking was probably stun aftereffects, but the man also nearly fell over his words to answer whatever question the Intelligence Chief set before him.

Luke took his usual observer post and kept his bewilderment to himself. Once Madine was satisfied that the failed insurgent was honestly telling what he knew – _nothing_, where biological weapons were concerned – and the two Alliance members were alone again, the young Jedi gave in to his curiosity, though.

"Why Rusel first?"

"Because he is easier to crack and it would be an embarrassing mistake to just _assume_ he knows nothing because he is a dupe and never check what could be the simplest source of information. And I want the bloodwork complete before I take on Derricote again," the older man told him, tone matter-of-fact but frustration leaking into the Force.

Luke felt like he had missed a page. "He's a dupe?"

Madine smiled humorlessly. "To quote: _All the moffs talked about the right course for the Empire in the days after the Emperor's death, and their deputies, too. And then Vader went and did everything wrong, and then disappeared the moffs apparently at random_ – some character named Loor found all too fertile ground to stir up trouble. Rusel was just the first to fall for it."

"Oh." The young Jedi felt dismayed and relieved at once. "He was on the ion cannon. Loor, I mean. Now, he's dead and evaporated."

"Good to know." The Intelligence Chief nodded slowly. "Well, the Colonies are a good place to start if unrest is all they wanted – enough snubbing from the Core Worlds to breed resentment, plus trade routes rich enough to have resources the Outer Rim can only dream of. But I have the feeling that there was more to the plan, and at least some of that derailed when Vader broke his own pattern and stayed where he was, instead of storming right in as usual, the Empire's iron fist."

_Oh, indeed._ "So the viruses – _if they are real_ – were meant to be the next, more roundabout assassination attempt?"

This time, Madine showed some black humor. "Possible. But from what I gathered, Loor was one of Isard's men and those can be awfully convinced of their own smartness – it is at least as likely that Derricote was another target of the setup, just one that was cunning enough to bring some insurance of his own. Just in case they went up against _Vader_ in a handful of stardestroyers and … _lost_."

_Imperial infighting at its finest, then. _The half-hearted relief that at least their enemies were working against each other, too, died a quick death when the Intelligence Chief went on, "Which leads to the question: should we tell Vader?"

Luke stared at him, carefully closed his mouth, then opened it again to reply.

"'_Obviously_' isn't the answer you're looking for or you wouldn't even ask," he said slowly, uncomfortably aware that he was talking to a man who knew not only the grunt work of toppling an Empire but devised the overarching strategies as necessary, disadvantage in resources, numbers and equipment notwithstanding. "So what would be the benefits of _not _warning him? Apart from the treaty we have with him, if there's anyone we'd rather have in charge of the Empire, _I haven't met them yet!_ And if an Empire tearing itself apart is a preferable outcome in general, why did we even go through with that armistice negotiation?!"

* * *

[1] The Jedi of old had kept little contact with the general populace and the Emperor's efforts to bury their memory had made the remaining fragments grow in the telling, until some people assumed every Jedi to be a master – even Luke.


	51. Attitude

Does it count as writer's block if the muse is not unwilling to work but unwilling to accept anything written the day before, demanding it to be discarded and redone from scratch, at least half a dozen times? Not that RL was any help either ...

In any case, Happy Easter, should that fit your calendar. And special thanks again to _the mummer's folly_, for providing a second opinion for the final version.

* * *

Madine sent the young Jedi an inscrutable look that went on for so long that Luke started drawing the Force to himself, to see if he couldn't reach across the galaxy and contact his father long-distance, too.

"Let me rephrase that," the older man said finally. "Should _we_, _representing the Alliance,_ tell Lord Vader about a threat that is mostly conjecture at this point, or should we first involve the Imperial Forces around us? The former strengthens our position as a useful ally to his lordship but damages cooperation on a more operative level. The latter, on the other hand, means we turn ourselves subordinate to Tigellinus, in deed if not formally. Neither is ideal."

The ex-commando rolled his shoulders. "To let the situation develop as is is evidently not an option, given your vehemence …."

The young Jedi had been slowly releasing the tension and even thought about apologizing for jumping to conclusions, but the last sentence threw him off. "I, err … What?"

Keen blue eyes bored into Luke. "I have seen you put your foot down maybe three times, unless the princess or your friends were directly involved, Skywalker. I have also seen the unmitigated disaster that followed the one time your misgivings were ignored. I am not fool enough to dismiss the bad feelings of a Jedi, especially in a situation as delicate as this."

_Now, _that _was a compliment of the underhanded kind._ The distinction between Leia and 'your friends', Madine had made, unnerved the young Jedi a lot more, though.

Aloud he said, "Then Leia should be informed before you make a call to Coruscant. She's the leading Alliance member here, isn't she?

And if she just so happens to sit right next to Tigellinus when she hears it," Luke shrugged eloquently, "she outranks him on the Imperial side, too – and the admiral is at least halfway okay with that, by now."

A black-humored smile twitched over the Intelligence Chief's lips. Before he could say anything, though, an aide brought him a datapad of findings from the medical deck and the discussion was postponed to a later time.

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For Derricote, Madine didn't go heavy on the intimidation but rather matched arrogance for arrogance. The young Jedi thought the air of jaded superiority even more chilling, but for the captured renegade it was obviously a familiar look. He mirrored it.

The Alliance Intelligence Chief smiled like a shark. "It has been too long since you had to face an equal opponent, hasn't it, Evir? You have grown accustomed to hold the advantage."

An idle flick of fingers against the datapad in his hand. "I have here a report that tells me that you do have some curious anti-bodies in the blood, which lends a modicum of credibility to your assertion of having done some work on biological agents. What it fails to tell me, however, is how that ever gave you the impression you had the upper hand.

After all, this," an expansive gesture invoked the fleet around them, "is not a resource-strapped rebel force. It is _the Empire_. _Assuming_ that there was something biological on the handful of missiles that hit something and _assuming_ that it will give a human more than a nasty rash …"

Derricote worked his jaw at the derision dripping from the tone but bit his tongue before he could give away any details.

Undeterred, Madine continued, "… we can throw the entire might of the Empire against it. We can literally flood a few stardestroyers in Bacta, if that is what it takes.

Or," a contemptuous shrug, "have them self-destruct. Very little survives the fires of a starship reactor run to critical and then vented deliberately into the ship. The Empire can afford such losses without really noticing."

Derricote had not been bluffing with his threat, Luke was reasonably sure of that. Unlike the renegade general, however, he didn't think Madine was bluffing either.

"The Empire could have," Derricote snarled, "but the Empire is dead! Its corpse is already going to pieces! Vader cannot afford to waste any ships and if he throws them away anyway, he will lose even more!"

"Lord Vader," the Intelligence Chief threw back silkily, "has always been rather possessive of his men – possessive, not necessarily protective. And as we all know what his lordship does to his own if they fail him – or simply catch his eye when he is in a temper – I am sure you can imagine how he will deal with a traitor. Especially one who went after the softest targets, in willful disregard of the warning Lord Vader gave in his speech just yesterday."

The bluster started cracking. The renegade general tried bargaining with his expertise which Vader would not want to waste, an argument brushed aside by Madine's assertion that the Sithlord had no taste for bioweapons or he would not have _"cleaned up that mess on Falleen with laser fire." _Then he claimed it would be a double standard to judge him more harshly than anyone else in the sector just because he'd been more effective than the locals, and Organa had said ….

The young Jedi was half a breath away from telling Derricote just what Leia would have to say to such a blatantly hypocritical appeal, when the tirade got cut off.

"Shwuy," the Intelligence Chief said softly, "_they_ had the princess speak for them; but you, she will not speak for _you_ – trying to upstage _Tarkin_ will do that to an Alderaani. Your only hope is that your toys fail to deliver. Personally, I hope they _do_ work as advertised – I would like you to reap what you have sown."

Derricote had different preferences. He took a good look at eyes relentless as the desert sky above an Alliance uniform and was suddenly very motivated to undo his dirty work.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The threat was real but Bacta would work as a cure if applied from the onset of infection, was the curt summary Leia and Tigellinus received as an update. It came with the caveat that Derricote had thrown together several viruses for his missile payloads, including non-human targeted ones, so even an asymptomatic case might still cause a plague if overlooked and left untreated, as soon as the carrier left the confines of the all-human crew of a stardestroyer.

What Madine carefully omitted was the confession that there had been a strain resistant to Bacta, highly infectious and unfailingly fatal to humans, that had been squirreled away on orders of Emperor Palpatine to some top-secret depot somewhere in the Deep Core. Derricote had sworn up, down and sidewise that he didn't know where that plague storehouse was and that, to the best of his knowledge, neither did anyone else apart from the late Emperor.

Luke had, reluctantly, conceded that to be truth as the man knew it. He had been much less reluctant to agree that the knowledge about _that _bioweapon should not be spread any further.

Consequently, the next item was the Alliance Intelligence Chief apprising his fellow Alliance council member that he would inform Lord Vader of the current findings, too, as background for the warning that this was likely part of a distraction gone out of hand. The princess received the news with a frown but assented; Tigelinus opened his mouth and closed it without a sound of protest. The young Jedi promptly thought that too easy a concession.

He said so aloud, too, once the call to the _Avatar_ was ended. Madine raised an eyebrow.

"Given a valid reason not to be the bearer of bad news, why would he fight that? Especially since he cannot be sure just how far the Force reaches when Lord Vader is wielding it. Though, on that note, Skywalker, how certain are you about its limitations?"

Luke barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Certain enough that Vader wouldn't strangle the admiral for telling him that Iceheart might be up to something. Couldn't, most likely, across a few thousand lightyears, but really, why would he?"

"He wouldn't," the older man said matter-of-factly and added with a gesture down himself, "as Tigellinus has found someone else to take that risk."

The young Jedi had just taken a deep breath to refute that, too, on the same logic as before, when Madine went on, "The man is as dangerous to allies as enemies, once he gets into a temper. You must have heard about General Veers, but the general was far from the only recent casualty of Vader's black moods."

The older man bared teeth in a sardonic smile. "Barring the two Death Stars, he might have even beaten the Alliance as a death risk above a certain rank. I would rather not add to the tally."

The humor vanished without trace. "If not for _your _sudden show of temper, Skywalker, his lordship's tendency to go on a rampage at the slightest provocation would have made a compelling argument that the galaxy – and specifically Princess Organa – would be safer if we let things run their course."

Luke swore internally. _Sithspit! Didn't work to fool an Emperor but managed to mislead some other people, in the worst possible way…._

Aloud he said, "In all their interactions since Endor, I have never felt any threat to Leia from Vader. But I … I'll meditate on it. Maybe I can tell you more afterwards."

_If I can convince Father to let you in on the fact that Veers Sr.'s _'death'_ was just a smokescreen and the rest of the attacks not quite so random …._

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

Despite his earlier remarks, Madine's greatest concerns about the call to Coruscant was not his personal safety but how to avoid eavesdroppers. The ex-commando didn't trust Imperial Intelligence not to have access to even the most recent Imperial codes and for obvious reasons he couldn't use the ones he would ordinarily consider secure.

"Things were easier when allies and enemies were not wearing the same uniform, weren't they?" was Ackbar's mild comment, before he suggested making use of the piece of foreign tech sitting squatly on the Bridge. It was rather unlikely that anyone not on the _Executor _could find out the serial number of the IFF system delivered to the _Valiant_ and if Vader couldn't trust his flagship, he had bigger problems anyway. Basing a scrambling code on the number wasn't unbreakable but good enough for a single conversation.

The Sithlord received the report that Shwuy had been pacified with minimal loss of life and was now well on the way of renewing its allegiance to the Empire with as little outward signs of emotion as he did the less pleasant news. Through the Force, however, the black flames jumped from appreciative pride – both the shield breach and Leia's persuasiveness – to furious protectiveness – the asteroid threat and bioweapons aimed at his children – to a self-assured confidence at the prospect of a greater conspiracy aimed at his rule.

He thanked the coolly polite Gen. Madine with similar courtesy, but beneath the armor mask there was a feral grin, Luke was sure. A fierce anticipation to spring the trap.

* * *

A/N: If I were Palpatine, I would not have let a man with such deadly talents and loose morals as Derricote run around playing general. I most definitely would not have let him run free with the knowledge of where to find ready stocks of such genocidal weapons as the Emperor's Plague (aka the incurable human killing virus). Bad enough that he knows it exists – a liability I would have also taken care of.

But at least Palpatine is the type to commission such weapons; the more … _hands-on_ Vader doesn't really fit the bill. Allegedly, the latter not only ended that mess on Falleen – quickly, brutally and localized within a 40 km radius, the alternative being the whole planet getting first overrun by a flesh-eating bacterium and then incinerated down to bedrock – but started the whole thing by establishing the research facility said bacterium escaped from. Unless he was playing gopher for Palpatine, I can't see him do _that_, though ….

A/N2: Ch. 14 holds the planning phase for Vader's recent rampages, in case you'd like to refresh your memory ;). But Madine has only the reports of the latest Imperial _(Death Squadron!)_ defectors to base his opinions on, plus, possibly, some stories of what happened at the start of Vader's career[1] and the reputation grown thereof.

* * *

[1] In the first couple of months of the newly forged Sithlord's existence, with his wife's death still over-fresh on his mind and the physical scars still raw, getting within sight was not a healthy activity. The Emperor did his best – read: _worst_ – to egg him on, of course, and at least half of the Imperial deaths Vader caused were premeditated if not ordered by the old man; but from an outside view, loose cannon was putting it _mildly_. He presumably found some equilibrium in the intervening two decades, 'cause the lethally instable don't inspire any loyalty, but his reputation was pretty much cemented by then, I expect ….


	52. In-between

Thanks again to _the mummer's folly_ for providing a second opinion.

* * *

Piloting a fighter through combat was multitasking to the extreme and Luke could do that almost in his sleep; keeping up two conversations in parallel while hiding one from the other was a skill that eluded him, however.

_Leia could probably do _that_ in her sleep_ …. The young Jedi squashed the stray thought and moved to end the mental contact along with the comm call, albeit with the forewarning that he would contact his father again in the near future, to discuss some further developments he had discovered. The black flames reached curiously but got brushed away, on the logic that he could not hold a full-on discussion while standing in the middle of the _Valiant's_ Bridge without anyone noticing his lack of attention to his surroundings.

That argument alone kept the young Jedi distracted long enough, though, that he had to fumble a hasty, vague agreement to some question Adm. Ackbar had asked him. It took the sidewise eye-roll that was the Mon Calamari equivalent of a raised eyebrow for Luke to follow the retreating admiral and realize that he had been roped into reviewing the sensor data the Alliance ship had gathered on the battle, to see if the Force could not give any further hints on which hits had spread bioweapons.

Tigellinus was a ruthless if clever tactician who had used the armored bulk of his own disabled ships to shield the rest from further ion hits; that was the main information the young Jedi took away from that session. For Ackbar it was probably the conclusion that the Force did not always trump common sense and experience: microbes released into a large fireball were inherently at a disadvantage but some of the hits showed explosions that were just barely armor-piercing. The Force had nothing to add to those.

While the admiral went to inform the Imperials, the young Jedi snuck off the Bridge, intent on some _'meditation' _in the safety of his own quarters.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

_So, what is it that you do not want to entrust a comm call – or is it your fellow rebels that you do not trust?_ was the opening shot when Luke finally made contact with his father.

_Err … a bit of both, I suppose. Though it's _you_ they don't trust and for good reasons. But first off: how much do you really know about the bioweapons the Emperor had Derricote develop?_ With all that had followed, the young Jedi had put the hidden killer virus to the back of his mind, but his father's first words were an eerie echo of Madine.

The black flames grew sharp with focus. _Enough to know that any handiwork of his should be considered a significant threat. Do you need particulars?_

_Yes? I mean, … do you know about something Bacta can't heal, no matter how much or how quick you get it?_

There was a long, long, ominous silence.

_You do, obviously, _the Sithlord finally stated.

_And you don't. Kriff! _If Luke had had to uphold the connection on his own he might have lost it at that point, for lack of the necessary peace of mind, but for the black flames strong emotions were a powerful draw. Too powerful, really – it took a moment for the young Jedi to re-sort his thoughts._ Well, Derricote said there's something that kills humans, has no cure and is really fast. He also said – _and he really believed that to be true!_ – that no one knows where it is, only the Emperor knew. Do you know where he might have put his most deadly weapons? Somewhere in the Deep Core, supposedly …._

_No. Not exactly. _The former second-in-command of the Empire paused thoughtfully._ But in this case I am inclined to believe Derricote's assertion: Palpatine would not have risked such knowledge falling into the wrong hands. The Dark Side of the Force is a powerful tool to cheat death but not infallible and the Emperor was not only human but a frail old man. _

_Good. _Luke breathed a mental and physical sigh of relief. _Then that's really a problem for a later time._

Returning to the original reason for the talk, the young Jedi wondered fleetingly if there was any diplomatic way to say this but then gave up and opted for the straightforward approach. _More pressing is:_ _that Sithlord-on-a-rampage show you put on for the Emperor was really convincing for everyone _apart_ from the old man. Meaning, Madine has every reason to think you might pull a General Veers on Leia – crushed with no regards on how well you worked together previously, just because she's in the wrong place at the wrong time when your temper gets the better of you._

The black flames reared back. _I would never willingly harm your sister! ..._

_I know that!_ A deep breath. **_I_**_ do. But no one else does – and very few other people even know it was a show. For the rest, hoping that an assassin gets lucky is honestly what looks best for both the galaxy on a whole and for Leia's safety. _

His father had played the deadly game of politics for more than two decades longer than Luke. It showed.

_How much convincing did it take, Son, to make General Madine share his gathered intel with me? _was his immediate conclusion_. _

_Err, two sentences, maybe three? Not much in any case. _None too keen on having his father find out that his usual _lack _of assertiveness had been the deciding factor, the young Jedi hurried to deflect the attention off himself. _He's very smart and a pragmatist. And someone I would really prefer to work with and not against us. _

He knew even as he sent the words that he should have put things differently, even before the black flames grew noticeably colder with the Sithlord's automatic response to threats near his children.

_Emphasis on_ **_work with_**_, _Luke hastened to add,_ Madine … he threw in his lot with Leia. If some other people in the Alliance will disagree with her decisions, he will stand with her._

_I see_. Another thoughtful pause. _He _is _a man of principles, I suppose._

The endorsement would have left the young Jedi feeling better, if it hadn't come with a memory image of what was likely the last time his father had met Madine before the armistice negotiations. It had the latter on his knees with a blaster to his head.

_Maybe you could put that a bit differently, _Luke advised bluntly._ When you said the same thing about Leia on Dravian's, it didn't go over so well. Or even better, maybe someone else could tell him_.

There was a brief flare of black flames quickly repressed, before his father declared,_ When you return to Imperial Center, I will advise your sister to take General Madine along for the next meeting. A warning such as his deserves some recognition._

Not quite a promise to bring the Intelligence Chief up to speed, but it would do for now._ Ah, yes. How are you going to deal with that greater plot? I doubt we'd be lucky enough for _'conjecture'_ not to come true …._

_A number of further … _cases of unrest_ have occurred since you left for the Shwuy sector, _the Sithlord confirmed._ Those of importance are being dealt with by trusted officers familiar with the areas. _A flicker of mixed pride and dark anticipation. _Your sister's arguments to conserve the strength in unity of the Empire has been set as an example to all those involved – her success will be the measure the others will be held up to. _

_That … Leia will like that, I think, _the young Jedi decided. The pleasure of seeing his sister's visions fulfilled even in her absence almost distracted him from the main question but Luke was picking up some tricks of diplomacy by sheer osmosis.

_So you're still on Coruscant, right? _he countered the diversion,_ Any new developments there?_

There was a minute pause.

_I questioned Isard about the anomaly beneath the Manarai Mountains, _his father admitted then_, but the Emperor had taken precautions. The moment I tried to probe her mind, it triggered an implant that obliterated the top half of Isard's body and would have taken most Force-users with her. _

It was probably inappropriate, but what impressed Luke most about that statement was the casual ease with which _'most Force-users'_ was pronounced as an exclusive term, with the absolute conviction that the speaker was not included in that number. He forcefully turned his mind back on the important facts.

_You repeat that to Leia, she's going to remember the first Death Star_, the young Jedi warned. _So – don't!_

A deep breath. _You think that was a general precaution or something specific to that 'anomaly'?_

_I could not say,_ was not the most reassuring of answers. It was nonetheless the note on which the contact ended. Until the situation on Coruscant changed significantly, no further details were to be had.

Oo oo oo oo oo oO

The following few hours were drive-you-up-the-walls eventless.

With the quarantine still intact but the need for further confirmation of the bioweapon threat merely academic, Luke was confined to the _Valiant_, while Leia, Han and Zev, along with the Rogues, were stuck on the _Avatar_. Madine took up another hour of the young Jedi's time by grilling him on the discussions with the Shwuy representatives, such as Luke had been present for, but as the highlight of those talks had been the fact that Rabakh had slunk along with the Alliance deputation unnoticed, the questioning didn't help much to relieve the tedium.

A deep growl finally drew the young Jedi from his last resort of staring into the starscape before the ship in a semi-trance. After all, an upset Wookiee storming onto the Bridge tended to draw attention if not necessarily comprehension. When Chewie simply shouldered the bewildered Mon Calamari manning the comm station aside and proceeded to duplicate the hack Jix had used to get hold of the latest news, both on Brentaal and Coruscant, he drew even more of a curious audience. Luke ducked past Captain Unak and found himself shoulder to shoulder with Madine, with Ackbar on his other side, when Chewie rumbled in satisfaction and one of the main screens came alive.

Behind a near-hysterical reporter, a mountain range _bulged_.

The young Jedi was pretty sure some fifty by twenty kilometers of bedrock were not supposed to do that – unless, perhaps, they capped off an awakening supervolcano. As they watched in horrified fascination, the whole mountain ridge kept pushing upwards, rock tearing apart under the strain to open giant fissures, but where Luke kept expecting large fountains of lava to follow, only spurts of vapors and dust clouds spread through the air.

The pall grew thick enough, admittedly, to veil the moment things turned completely surreal: a gigantic lump of mountain kept rising once it lost contact with the surrounding ground. It wasn't until he saw the telltale distortion of repulsor beams that the young Jedi realized that he was seeing an absolutely humungous anti-grav lift in action. Boulders, larger than houses, continued to slide from the rising construct and fell in a cataclysmic hail, affecting a larger and larger area as the thing rose higher and higher, drawing the eye to an increasing tilt along the longest axis.

Luke's inner pilot deduced _'take-off angle'_, inferred that the lower end would hold the main engines and drew on the _Lady_ for size comparison. The reporter, he realized in dismay, would get caught in the engine wash, along with a few tens of square kilometers of whatever stood beyond him – and that was an estimate based on the damage area in space, the young Jedi had no comparison for engine blast of that caliber interacting with an atmosphere. It couldn't end well, though, surely!

"Coruscant," Madine breathed, evidently recognizing a distant skyline of skyscrapers, "that is Coruscant! Chewbacca, where did you get this?!"

The Wookiee made a few terse noises.

"Jixton?" the displaced comm officer at the back of the group asked in confusion, "Jixton sent you the data?"

A flippered hand jabbed forward and did something on the comm console.

"Still _is _sending. You are bouncing a secure line through your ship, aren't you?" Cpt. Unak queried.

Chewie made a sound of agreement, tapped the side of his head – or rather, as Luke realized, the comlink half-hidden in his fur – and inputted another command. The screen split, half of it switching to a view from space, one of the traffic satellites that had covered yesterday's parade, if Luke wasn't mistaken.

Coruscanti space was empty but for a few standard stardestroyers, the home defense fleet, the young Jedi guessed, and not even all of them. Of the _Lady_ and the enormous fleet that had trailed her to Coruscant, there was no sign.

* * *

A/N: That scene Vader remembers is canon (or as canon as Legends gets, these days). Madine tried his hand at double agent at first, supplying the Alliance with crucial information from within the Empire – before he got himself caught. Took some outside intervention to save him from execution. I simply couldn't resist …. ;)


End file.
